


When the Lights Go Out

by swimmingwolf59



Series: After the Fire [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Basically no permadeath, Canon Temporary Character Death, Grief, Katra Transference, M/M, Memory Loss, Mild Sexual Content, Search for Spock spoilers, Swearing, Telepathic Communication, Two Minds One Body, Voyage Home spoilers, Wrath of Khan spoilers, humpback whales that's who, who do you go to when you need advice?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28162137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimmingwolf59/pseuds/swimmingwolf59
Summary: McCoy can communicate with Spock while he’s just a katra trapped in his head, and they share feelings neither of them had the courage to before. But things don’t make as much sense when Spock is returned to his body.
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Series: After the Fire [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2063160
Comments: 25
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I totally failed to write anything for 12 days of spones lol, but I did have this monster waiting to be edited so I decided to post it instead. I didn't tag major character death as an archive warning because he like...doesn't stay dead. But let me know if you think I should and I'll change it! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!
> 
> Title comes from the black keys song

_Although I search myself,_

_it’s always someone else I see_

_—_ George Michael and Elton John, “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me”

If he was calm, McCoy was sure he would’ve noticed the shift in his head the moment Spock died.

But he wasn’t calm – he was the furthest possible thing from calm. He was furious; he was upset; he felt like his heart was going to split in two. He was watching Spock struggle to speak to Jim through the wall of the reactor room; he was watching Spock dying. He felt utterly useless – he could do nothing but watch. He’d tried to stop him, but that stupid, stubborn Vulcan had knocked him out, deciding it was his job and burden to kill himself to save the rest of them.

“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the one.”

Like _hell_ they did. McCoy wanted to yell at him, but—

The sight of Spock’s body going slack was enough to shock him into silence. He spent a long time just staring at him, trying to process the image. This…wasn’t right. Spock wasn’t supposed to be that… _lax_. He was always tense, carefully controlled. He would never be just sprawled on the ground like that.

McCoy had the sudden impulse to go in and shake him until he woke up.

_That is completely illogical._

McCoy grit his teeth. Dammit, he knew it was illogical, but didn’t he have permission to feel _now_ , of all times? Now that his coworker, his adversary, his—his goddamn _friend_ was dead? Why _shouldn’t_ he just break down then and there?

“Bones,” Jim mumbled, still crumpled on the floor. His voice was so broken that McCoy knew he couldn’t start screaming and sobbing like he wanted to. He had to keep it together for Jim’s sake, for the rest of the crew that looked just as badly shaken.

McCoy kneeled down beside him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. There was nothing to say.

It was a long time before he noticed anything was wrong. There was too much to do to have time to process the weird feeling in his head. Khan’s attack had done a number on the _Enterprise_ and her crew, and McCoy’s Sickbay was filled to the brim. There weren’t enough beds for everyone, so they set up temporary cots in the cargo bay, and McCoy spent the next few days endlessly making the trip from Sickbay to the cargo bay and back again.

For once, he had plenty of time to treat everyone. Repairs were taking forever, since they had to wait while the reactor room was cleared of radiation, and especially since…

McCoy’s lip trembled and he had to bite it to keep his composure. He couldn’t think about Spock, or he wouldn’t be able to keep performing his duties.

He hadn’t seen Jim since it had happened. He was sure he was just as busy as McCoy was, but that didn’t stop him from worrying. If something else didn’t kill Jim Kirk first, it was all too likely he would just work himself to death instead.

…He needed to stop thinking about his friends dying.

Sighing, McCoy shook his head and tried to smile for his next patient.

It felt like he had been working for days, and perhaps he had, by the time Christine placed her hand on his shoulder. “Leonard. You need a break.”

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, blinking hard until the tricorder in his hands came back into focus. His head had been throbbing steadily since Spock’s death, and so far no painkiller he had tried had been able to quell it.

“You need rest,” she said, more assertively. “I know what you’re trying to do, and I respect it, but… You can’t run away from it forever. None of us can.”

McCoy sighed and leaned against his desk. Now that he had stopped for a second, all of his weariness and pain and sorrow were flooding into him at an overwhelming rate.

“The worst part of it is,” he mumbled, gripping the desk so harshly it dug into his palms, “If Spock were here, right now, we would’ve been out of this hell hole days ago. But the only reason we’re fucking here at all is because…”

He stopped, choking on his words. Christine’s face softened as she pulled him into a hug and held him tightly. “I know, Leonard. I miss him too, and for once I can’t even blame you for being angry at him.”

He huffed out a humorless laugh, and then buried his face in her shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her. They stood there for a long time, grounding each other. When they pulled back, McCoy sniffed and rubbed his nose. “I promise I’ll rest for a bit. But you better rest too, you hear? We don’t need any more martyrs on this ship.”

She squeezed his shoulder. “I promise.”

McCoy nodded and left Sickbay. His feet almost took him automatically towards the cargo bay, and he had to consciously turn in the direction of his quarters. He stopped in front of Spock’s quarters and stared at them for a while. With everything else going on, he was sure no one had thought about it yet, but eventually they’d have to clean up his stuff. Dole it out to the right people. Had he even left a will?

For a strange moment, he couldn’t stand the thought of someone touching his stuff. Spock had always been very picky about who he let in his quarters, and the thought of just _anybody_ waltzing in there…

But it was a crazy thought, so McCoy shook his head and continued on. 

When he got to his own quarters, he merely toed off his boots and socks, removed his uniform, and flopped into bed. He was wearing the same clothes he had for days, so he probably stank, but he was too exhausted to care just then. It seemed so unbearably insignificant, compared to everything else.

_Spock…_

He didn’t think he would be able to sleep, but he was so tired that he slipped into unconsciousness as soon as he shut his eyes. His dreams were plagued with bright lights, people screaming, intense, horrible pain…

He woke to a massive headache, even worse than the one he had had before, like his brain was trying to stretch past his skull. His thoughts were all muddled, and for a moment he couldn’t remember a thing about who he was or where he was. His vision swam as he sat up, and he pressed his palms to his eyes to try and minimize it. When the dizziness passed, he pulled his hands back and jolted at the sight of them. Something was wrong – his fingers were too short, too wrinkled, and his veins were blue instead of green…

McCoy blinked, frowning down at his hands. They looked normal to him now. He had no idea why they hadn’t before.

For another dazed moment, he couldn’t remember anything about his situation. He had no idea what time it was, or why he stank like a Denebian slime devil, or when he was supposed to be on duty. Actually, he had no idea why he seemed to be on the _Enterprise_ at all, until he remembered…

It hit him like a physical blow to the chest, knocking all of the air out of him.

Spock…was _dead_.

_No, not quite._

The thought slipped into his head from absolutely nowhere, and he frowned. It was bad enough that his friend was dead, but now he was hearing voices?

McCoy shook his head to clear it. It was probably just hallucinations from shock and grief – weird things happened to people in mourning. It wasn’t totally unheard of for people to hear the voices of their dead friends and loved ones in their head.

“Can’t shut up even in death, huh?” McCoy mumbled, letting out a huff of a laugh.

It quickly turned into a sob, and he thought about just letting it all out.

But then the comm buzzed.

“Bones.” Jim’s voice was flat. “Could you come to my quarters, please?”

McCoy let out a long breath and carefully pulled himself together. He jabbed the comm button. “Yeah, Jim. I’m on my way.”

\--

“I’m going to leave Spock’s body on Genesis,” Jim said. They were sitting at his desk, sharing a bottle of brandy to honor their friend. They had tried the Vulcan spice tea Spock loved, but neither of them had been able to stomach it. “I don’t know what else to do. He never really said what to do with his body…Vulcan death rituals are more to do with the mind, you know?”

McCoy frowned, and suddenly it felt like his mind had been shifted to the backseat. He was watching his body say and do things, but he himself was just an observer rather than an active participant. “Jim, you can’t leave me here.”

Jim looked up at him, eyebrows creased in confusion. “What are you talking about, Bones? I’m not leaving you – you’re sitting right here with me, aren’t you?”

“Jim, please. You must take me home.”

Jim’s eyes softened. “I am, I promise. We’re going home, Bones.”

_You don’t understand_ , a voice cried in his mind, but it wasn’t McCoy’s. McCoy was back in control of his body now, and he blinked in confusion.

What the _hell_ was that.

“Jim,” he said hesitantly. His thoughts felt all jumbled and confused, but the one thing that came through clearly was: “I don’t think we should leave Spock’s body on Genesis.”

Now Jim looked even more confused. “Why not?”

McCoy shook his head. “I-I don’t know, I just have this feeling…”

“…Do you have another suggestion?” Jim said. He was always up to hearing alternatives, even if he didn’t agree with them.

McCoy opened his mouth to reply, but his headache suddenly exploded back to life, nearly crippling him. He cried out as he gripped his head, tears building in his eyes from the pain. It felt like it would kill him if it didn’t stop soon. 

Jim was at his side in an instant. “Bones! Bones, what’s wrong?”

The pain faded just as abruptly as it had come, and he gasped. He sat there for a long time, regaining his breath, and when the headache didn’t return, he glanced up at Jim. “I’m…I’m okay.”

Jim gave him a skeptical look, and McCoy couldn’t really blame him. “Are you sure I don’t need to call Sickbay?”

“No, it was just a headache.” McCoy gave him a weak smile. “What were we talking about?”

“Spock’s body,” Jim said, and returned somewhat reluctantly to his seat. “You don’t think we should leave him on Genesis.”

McCoy sighed loudly. “I don’t know what I think, Jim. I’m just sad, and tired, and I don’t want to deal with _any_ of this. You should do what you think is best.”

“I don’t really know what I think, either,” Jim admitted quietly. “Everything seems…unclear, without him around.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, Captain,” McCoy muttered. He lifted his glass. “To Spock. Damnedest bastard I ever knew, and a damn good friend, too.”

Jim smiled weakly and clinked his glass to McCoy’s.

“I have to believe that he’s not really dead, as long as we remember him,” McCoy said after they’d tossed their drinks back.

The… _thing_ in his head struggled again, making him wince. Jim stared at him, eyes hollow. “Bones…are you sure you’re okay?”

“…I don’t know,” McCoy answered honestly, gritting his teeth as his vision swam. “I haven’t felt right since…well, I’m sure that’s true for all of us.”

Jim nodded and turned to stare out the window. “…I guess it was a stupid question.”

McCoy followed his gaze, and for a long time they just sat there and stared.

\--

Spock’s body was left on Genesis. McCoy could barely look at the pod as it jettisoned out into space. He hated the thought of him being alone out there.

A headache throbbed in his temple, a familiar pain by now, and McCoy thought about just what Spock would’ve said if he had heard Jim calling him the most human.

\--

Long after the funeral, McCoy sat hunched over a glass of bourbon, finally allowing himself to be miserable in the privacy of his quarters.

Spock was dead. Spock was dead, and McCoy should’ve been able to do something about it. He’d been _right there_ , dammit. He should’ve been able to prevent it. But he hadn’t, and now he would never again hear Spock’s sarcastic banter, or watch that eyebrow arch up in the way it always did, or marvel at how bright and emotional his eyes were. Dammit, he’d never even gotten the chance to tell him that he…

Something touched his mind, and he shivered. Goddamn, was it always this _cold_ in his quarters? Were the environmental controls broken on top of everything else? He should turn up the thermostat… Although actually, Spock’s quarters were always uncomfortably warm.

_Take me home._

Confused, he stood. This wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be in the doctor’s quarters, especially when he wasn’t there. It was too cold, anyway.

He stumbled out into the hallway, shivering as he walked briskly. Luckily, the two rooms weren’t too far away from each other, so he reached his destination quickly, only to walk right into the doors when they didn’t open automatically.

He stared at the doors. They appeared to be sealed shut. Another malfunction? No matter, he had superior strength to humans, he could push his way through.

Ignoring the yellow tape strung across the doorway, he hooked his fingers in the gap between the doors. It was hard to get enough purchase with how small the gap was, but he eventually got his fingers in place and pushed. The door was heavier than he had expected – he knew for a fact that he had forced doors just like this open before with no problem, but perhaps it was due to his lack of meditation. He couldn’t remember the last time he had, after all…

Once he’d shoved the doors open enough, he slipped inside. It was dark inside – unusually dark. He couldn’t see anything, even with his enhanced night vision. But that was fine, he knew where everything was, and it would be easier to meditate without anything to distract him. He walked to where he knew the environmental controls were and turned the temperature up to 35°C.

There. Now that he was warm enough, maybe he could actually meditate. He badly needed to.

His meditation mat didn’t seem to be in the room, so he settled into the lone chair, figuring it would suffice for now. His old bones couldn’t take much sitting on the floor, after all…

As he sat there, however, he found it hard to focus. His mind kept wandering, falling in and out of consciousness, in and out of two distinct personalities. When he looked inside himself, he couldn’t understand anything that was there. It was as if his mind, his soul, was a book where someone had written different words on top of the pre-existing ones, so that neither story was legible. 

The light came on suddenly, and he winced at the brightness of it. He looked towards the door and saw Jim come in. He was walking in slowly, cautiously, like he wasn’t sure what he was going to find inside. He felt relieved to see his friend – maybe he could help him. He was remembering some things, now. He couldn’t meditate because…because he wasn’t here, but somewhere else, far away.

“Jim,” he said. His voice sounded alien to his ears. “Help me. You left me on Genesis. Why did you do that?”

Suddenly Jim lunged at him, grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing him out of the chair. He looked confused now. “Bones? What the hell are you doing? Have you lost your _mind_?”

Yes, that certainly was a possibility…no, he had not lost his mind. “Help me, Jim. Take me home.”

“Bones, we are. We _are_ home.”

A smile grew on his lips. They were _home_. “Then perhaps it’s not too late. Climb the steps, Jim. Climb the steps of Mount Seleya.”

Jim’s eyebrows furrowed. “Mount Seleya? Bones, Mount Seleya is on Vulcan. We’re home, on Earth.”

…Earth? Home was…Earth. No, home was… “Remember…”

He didn’t get to finish his thought, for he swiftly lost consciousness. The last thing he remembered was falling into Jim’s arms.

\--

When he woke up, he was home.

But home wasn’t dry winds and orange sand at his feet. Home was a cabin smack dab in the middle of a peach farm. Home was wood rafters over his head and the smell of cobbler baking in the oven. It was the home he had always known, and yet it didn’t feel like home at all.

…What the hell was happening to him?

He sat up, and immediately regretted it. His vision swam so much he thought he was going to be sick, and he groaned as he dropped his head down into his hands.

“Daddy?” Joanna’s voice sounded from somewhere close by, and the next thing he knew strong arms were maneuvering him back into lying down. “What did you do that for? You need to be resting.”

“Joanna,” he murmured, looking at her. The sight of her familiar face snapped him out of it, whatever the hell _it_ was. McCoy blinked and looked around the room. He was in his childhood bedroom – or what used to be his childhood bedroom. Joanna lived here now with her wife and their Trill baby. “God, Joanna…what happened?”

“Uncle Jim said the doctors told him it was exhaustion, which didn’t really surprise me, knowing you.” She smiled, but it faded quickly as she placed her hand over his. “He told me about Spock. I’m…I’m real sorry, Daddy. I was looking forward to meeting him.”

McCoy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He didn’t really want to think about it. “Everything’s felt so…fucked up since he died. I don’t know what’s the matter with me, Jo.”

“You’ve always taken death harder than most – that’s just who you are,” Joanna said, sitting on the bed next to him.

“But this is _different_ – it’s like…there are times when I feel like I’m not in control of my own body. And just now, I was dreaming of the desert, but it sure as hell wasn’t any desert I’ve ever seen on Earth. I think…I was dreaming of Vulcan.”

She frowned. “But you’ve only been to Vulcan once, haven’t you?”

He nodded. “Yup, and I only saw one small bit of it. Never anything like that. If this is just exhaustion, it’s sure as hell different than anything else I’ve ever experienced before.”

“But you had an especially strong bond with Spock, didn’t you?”

He scoffed. The sad thing was, he wasn’t even sure about that. “Not as strong as I would’ve liked.”

“…Oh, Daddy.” Her face crumpled a bit as she laid down beside him and draped an arm over him, resting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her and hugged her tight, and for a moment he could pretend that she was just a little girl again, and that nothing mattered except for him being at her side.

“I’ll be alright,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I _hope_.”

She turned her head a bit to look up at him. “I told Uncle Jim you were going to stay put and rest, so you better not make me a liar.”

“Well, I can’t go doing something as grievous as that, can I?” He smiled and patted her shoulder. “Don’t feel like you need to hover around me. I’m sure Xolani would appreciate some help with baby Zadrin, huh?”

She pouted. “Daddy, you have a bad habit of caring about everybody but yourself.”

“I’m sure I don’t know anyone else like that, now do I?” he said sarcastically.

“Huh, I wonder where I _possibly_ could’ve picked that up from?” She rolled her eyes but reluctantly sat up. “Okay, Daddy, I’ll go check on my baby. But if you need anything, _anything_ , comm me. Tough guy acts are only cool in the movies.”

“Trust me, I know,” McCoy grumbled, mood flattening as he thought of Spock again.

Joanna squeezed his hand once more and then left, quietly shutting the door behind her.

McCoy laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He realized that it was the first time he’d truly been alone since this whole mess happened. It’d be a good time to let it all out – maybe it would help get rid of these weird hallucinations and disassociations.

But he strangely didn’t feel like crying. He just felt empty, like the stuff that made up his thoughts and emotions had just flooded out of him, and now there was nothing left.

Nothing, except a distinct impression that he was not where he was supposed to be.

He laid in bed for hours without sleep or feeling, before finally giving up. He was starving, and based on the wonderful smells drifting up from the kitchen, someone was making something delicious.

“I made your favorite!” Joanna said, beaming when McCoy hobbled into the kitchen. She was alone setting the table, but McCoy could hear Xolani’s soft murmurings from somewhere else in the house. “Fried chicken and peach cobbler.”

McCoy just stared down at the chicken. It was true this was his favorite dish but… “…I’m sorry Jo, I can’t eat this.”

She frowned. “What do you mean, Daddy?”

“I’m vegetarian,” he found himself saying, and then he was the one frowning.

Joanna looked shocked, and then did her best to hide it. “…Oh, I’m sorry, you never told me—”

“No, no, I didn’t because I’m not…vegetarian…”

Well, that was it.

He’d finally lost his damn mind.

Spock’s death really must have broken him more than he thought.

“…Daddy you’re scaring me,” Joanna said, approaching him slowly like he was a wild animal. “What’s going on?”

“I wish I could tell you.” McCoy sat down at the table, still staring at the chicken. Some part of him wanted to eat it, but another part of him was absolutely repulsed by the idea. He could hardly even smell it without flinching. “I don’t think I can eat this, Jo, I’m real sorry.”

“…That’s okay, I can make something else.”

Xolani entered the kitchen then with Zadrin notched on her hip. “Babe, why don’t you take a seat? You’ve been running yourself ragged. I can whip up some pilau for our good doctor here.”

“That sounds wonderful, Xo, thanks.” McCoy smiled at her, and then his smile widened as Zadrin was deposited into his lap. “And there’s my darlin’ grandson! How are you today, young man?”

Zadrin gurgled in response. McCoy chuckled and tucked him into his lap, wrapping his arms around him. “I remember when you were this tiny, Jo.”

She groaned as she sat beside him, taking a piece of chicken from his plate and eating it herself. “Dad, _please_ do not start with those stories again.”

“Aw, but they’re my favorite!” Xolani said, laughing. “I especially love the one about you in the bathtub—”

“ _No_ ,” Joanna cried in agony, but McCoy cut over her.

“Now that _is_ a fascinating tale, even though your _ko’mekh_ hates it too, but I think—”

“What did you say?” Joanna interrupted, suddenly serious.

He frowned at her. “I said your mother hates it too, but—”

“No, you said…komek? Something like that.”

“I heard it too,” Xolani said, turning to face them, and now she looked serious too.

“I couldn’t have said that, I don’t even know what it _means_.” McCoy gestured wildly. “I mean, is that even a word?”

Xolani pulled out her PADD and typed quickly on it. Then she said, “ _Ko’mekh_ means ‘mother’ in Vulcan.”

McCoy sat in stunned silence for a moment. “But I don’t even _know_ Vulcan – how the hell could I have said that!”

“Daddy, language,” Joanna scolded, habitually. Then, face softening, “Are you sure Spock didn’t teach it to you?”

McCoy shook his head. “No, he never taught me any words, not well enough for them to slip into my casual speech, anyway. I mean…I guess I never asked him to. I should’ve.”

They all sat in silence for a moment. Joanna and Xolani kept exchanging looks, like neither of them quite knew what to do with him. McCoy usually couldn’t stand being worried about like that, but right now he was kind of worrying himself, too. As a doctor, he was used to knowing what was wrong with him, and to have _absolutely no idea_ terrified him. How did he suddenly know all of these things about Vulcan? He must be going insane.

“Well,” Xolani said eventually, “Let’s just eat. Knowing you, Len, you haven’t eaten or slept properly in days – maybe once you have, this will all clear itself up.”

“It’s possible,” McCoy murmured, but he didn’t believe it. He’d put himself through a lot worse than this without suddenly spouting words from a language he didn’t speak.

They didn’t talk anymore about McCoy’s condition for the rest of the evening. Instead, McCoy listened to Joanna and Xolani recount what they’ve been up to in their lives, and funny stories about Zadrin. McCoy loved spending time with his daughters, and he felt lucky that he got this time to. He really hadn’t had much over the years, what with ping-ponging back and forth from space all the time, and he thought that now he that he was officially retired, he really should make more time in his life for them.

He missed most of Joanna’s growing up – he didn’t want to miss Zadrin’s, too.

When they were done with dinner, McCoy excused himself and returned to his room. As he laid down in bed, he tried to force his mind off. Like Xolani had said, he really needed to _rest_. At least then, if the problem still persisted, he would have more energy and mental clarity to deal with it.

All he needed to do was rest.

Rest.

Rest…

He woke up in a cold sweat.

He didn’t know where he was, only that he was not where he was supposed to be. He needed to be on Vulcan. He needed to be home, but Jim wanted him to stay put. Jim wanted him to rest and recover. Therefore, he wasn’t planning on helping him get to Mount Seleya. If that was the case, then he would need to get there himself.

He needed a ship.

He waited until he couldn’t hear Joanna and Xolani whispering to each other, and then he silently got dressed and climbed out the window. He had sneaked out this window thousands of times before and gone to the mountains to escape his family. He had never worried about wild _sehlat_ or _le-matya_ attacking him, because he had always brought I’Chaya along. The desert was a different beast at night – much colder than he was comfortable in, and many predators were nocturnal. But it had brought a semblance of peace, as well: in the desert night, there was nothing in the world but him and I’Chaya. It was a comforting fantasy that he could lose himself completely in.

But he wasn’t heading for the desert tonight.

He stepped into the dimly lit bar, the loud noise of inebriated people talking and laughing assaulting his ears as he made his way over to an empty booth. This bar was familiar to him, somewhere in the murky depths of his mind, but right now it just confused him. The music was too loud; the lights from the disco ball were too bright; a headache throbbed right behind his eyes and made him want to sink his forehead onto the hopefully cool table.

“Long time, Doc,” a waitress said, grinning as she approached his table and cleared the empty glasses.

“…Yeah. Anybody been looking for me?” He hoped Joanna hadn’t heard him leave and reported to Jim that he had not, in fact, stayed put.

“I have, but what’s the use?” the waitress joked. “What will it be?”

He wanted a drink. He needed hydration. “Altair water.”

The waitress giggled. “That’s not your usual poison.”

He frowned at her. “To expect one to order poison in a bar is not logical.”

She winked at him, apparently not taking him seriously. “Got it.”

While he waited for his water, he scanned the bar. He had heard that in establishments such as these, it was simple to find someone who was more than willing to trade sketchy merchandise for the right price. He made eye contact with an alien that was mostly bald except for a few strands of black and white hair. They also had long black and white eyebrows and a beard. They had big ears with many piercings, and a thick leather jacket. He was not usually one to stereotype, but this was the typical appearance of such an individual.

The alien caught him staring and stood to make their way over to his table. “To your planet, welcome.”

He looked them up and down. “I think that’s my line, stranger.”

“Oh, forgive. I here am new. But you are known, being McCoy from _Enterprise._ ”

“…Then you have me at a disadvantage,” he said, somewhat warily.

“Oh, I name not important.” They leaned forward. “You seek I. Message received. Available ship stands by.”

He relaxed slightly. This had been easier than he had anticipated. “How much and how soon?”

“How soon is now and how much is where.”

“Somewhere in the Mutara sector.”

“Ohhh.” They shook their head. “Mutara restricted. Take permits many. Money, more.”

A flash of anger surged through him. “There aren’t going to be any damn permits – how can you get a permit to do a damn illegal thing?!”

He had to physically stop himself from lashing out more. He needed this ship, regardless of if he liked the captain. “Look, price you name. Money _I got_.”

“Place _you_ name,” they said, pointing at him, “Money I name, otherwise bargain no.”

So much for reigning back his temper. “Alright, dammit – it’s Genesis! The name of the place we’re going is Genesis!”

“Genesis?!” the alien practically shouted, reeling back.

“Yes, Genesis!” he hissed. “How can you be deaf with ears like that?!”

“Genesis allowed is not!” they insisted. “Is planet forbidden!”

He stood up, grabbing the alien by the collar and dragging them up with him. “Look, my backwards friend, Genesis may be planet forbidden, but I’m damn well—”

A hand grabbed his shoulder and he looked up sharply. A Starfleet officer was standing next to him. He looked familiar, but he couldn’t place who he was at the moment. The Starfleet officer gently pushed him back into his seat, and sat down beside him. “Sir, I’m sorry but your voice is carrying. I don’t think you want to be discussing this subject in public.”

“I’ll discuss what I like!” he snapped. “And who in the hell are you?”

The man paused, as if disappointed, and then said, “Could I offer you a ride home, Doctor McCoy?”

“Where’s the logic in offering me a ride home you idiot?! If I wanted a ride home, would I be trying to charter a space flight?”

The alien growled at him, obviously displeased, but he ignored them and turned back to the Starfleet officer. “How the hell do you know who I am, anyway?”

The officer pulled out a badge, and this, at least, was familiar. _Shit_. “Federation security, sir.”

His flight response kicked in – he bolted upright, but the other man was faster, and he yanked him right back down. He reached out and gripped the man’s shoulder in a nerve pinch, but for the first time in his life, it didn’t work. It didn’t work, no matter how hard he kept squeezing and squeezing.

_What_ was going on?!

Unimpressed, the Federation security officer grabbed his wrist. “You’re going to get a nice, long rest, Doctor.”

\--

He did sleep well, in the mental health facility.

He slept, and dreamed of a moonless night sky and the comforting heat of the desert. He dreamed of the mountains and I’Chaya, and he dreamed of his mother’s lullabies.

The sleeping was the okay part. It was the waking up that sucked.

_I am literally out of my goddamn mind._

McCoy laid in bed, keeping his eyes shut, because it was easier when he pretended to be asleep. He was trying to remember what exactly had led him to this situation. All signs pointed back to Spock’s death, but it just didn’t make any damn _sense._ He had lost people before, people he was close with, and it had never affected him like _this_.

So what was happening? Maybe all that time up in space really had driven him crazy…

A hand on his shoulder made him jump, but all tension left his body when he turned to find Jim staring down at him. He sat up abruptly, smiling. “Jim!”

Jim sat beside him, held up a _ta’al_ , and said seriously, “How many fingers am I holding up?”

McCoy scowled at him. “That’s not very damn funny.”

Jim smirked. “Your sense of humor has returned.”

“The hell it has,” McCoy grumbled. His eyes fell to the hypo Jim pulled from his jacket. “What’s that?”

“Lexorin,” Jim said, like that explained anything.

It was actually a little unsettling that McCoy had never heard of it. “Lexorin? What for?”

“You’re suffering from a Vulcan mind meld, Doctor.”

… _That_ was what this was? McCoy had thought he was going out of his goddamn mind and it was really just Spock, meddling with him one last time? “That green-blooded son of a _bitch_. It must be his revenge for all those arguments he lost!”

Jim smiled. “Let me see your hand. This will make you well enough to travel.” 

The effects of the lexorin were nearly immediate. He couldn’t say exactly _what_ it did, except that his own thoughts were coming through more easily than they had been. His head felt clearer than it had in days, the persistent headache finally gone. He knew that a lot of what he had been thinking had come from something else, something apart from him. 

And he knew, distinctly, that there was something else in his head that wasn’t usually there.

He touched it gently, hesitantly. _Spock?_

Something pressed against his mind suddenly. Warmth and comfort and… _happiness_ washed over him. _Doctor._

McCoy let out a harsh breath. _It’s really you, then? I’m not going insane?_

_It is me, though I do not believe my identity has any effect on whether or not you are sane._

McCoy chuckled, relief flooding through him. _It must be you, you’re just as annoying as always._

A warm wave washed over him that might have been one of Spock’s almost-smiles, had Spock had a body he could almost smile with.

“Jim,” McCoy said, smiling despite himself. “You were right. It’s…it’s Spock!”

Jim grinned, wide and happy. “I’m glad to hear it, Bones. I’d like to hear more, but right now we need to get you out of here.”

McCoy couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Don’t tell me – one of your schemes?”

_One of his schemes_ , Spock agreed in his head, and McCoy smirked.

It was depressingly easy to break McCoy out of the mental health facility. It was just as depressingly easy to steal the _Enterprise._ In a matter of minutes it seemed, they were on their way to Genesis. To retrieve Spock’s body. Because his disembodied spirit was apparently in McCoy and it and his body needed to be taken back to Vulcan for the proper death ritual.

McCoy had been so happy to hear from Spock that he hadn’t really thought much about what all of this actually _meant_.

He reached out to that foreign bundle in his head. Now that he knew he was there, it was easy to press against Spock when he wanted his attention. _Spock, can I ask you something?_

_Of course._

He was distracted from actually asking anything as he became aware of Jim barking out orders on the ship. As if he’d done it all his life, McCoy sat at the science station and looked at the scanners.

“Scan for vessels in pursuit,” Jim said.

“Scanning. Indications negative at this time,” he replied, in a voice that didn’t sound like his.

Everyone turned to stare at him. Jim especially looked a bit shocked, slowly making his way to where McCoy was sitting.

Back in control of himself, McCoy turned to smirk at him. “Well, did I get it right?”

Jim gave him an uneasy smile. “Great, Bones, just great.”

After he turned away, McCoy pressed against Spock again. _Hey, am I the one piloting this body or not?_

_My apologies, Doctor. It seemed to me that, at the moment, Jim required a science officer, not a surgeon._

_Cheeky bastard._ McCoy looked down at the scanners in front of him, which were suddenly incomprehensible. _I still want to ask you something, but maybe that should wait until we’re out of this mess._

_Logical, Doctor,_ Spock said, and McCoy could _feel_ his amusement.

_Oh great, I’m going to have to listen to that forever, aren’t I? Just my damn luck._

_You do not mean that,_ Spock said, not a question, but a statement. McCoy could feel his surprise. It was unsettling to realize that Spock could read all of McCoy’s feelings just as easily. 

Before he could reply, however, Jim approached his station again. McCoy looked up as Jim leaned over the back of the scanners. “How are we doing?”

“…How are _we_ doing?” McCoy repeated, smirking a little. “Funny you should put it quite that way, Jim. ‘We’ are doing fine. But I’d feel safer giving him one of my kidneys than what’s scrambled in my brain.”

Spock was strangely silent. He must have still been processing his previous discovery.

“Can you…” Jim started, and then made a soft noise of frustration. “I mean, does he talk to you?”

“All the time,” McCoy said with a grin. “The bastard never shuts up.”

_That is not true. I stay quiet while you are sleeping._

“Good, I don’t want to be dreaming about you too,” he snapped, and didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud until he saw the look on Jim’s face. “Sorry. Still getting used to the whole…‘two minds one body’ thing.”

Jim nodded and offered a weak smile. “Aren’t we all, Bones. Well, tell Mister Spock that we’re all glad he’s okay—well, as okay as he can be.”

McCoy’s features neutralized and he nodded his head towards Jim. “And I you, Jim.”

McCoy blinked back into control of his body and growled, “Hey, what did I _just_ yell at you about?”

_He was talking to me Doctor, it seemed logical to—_

“Oh, sure.” McCoy snorted. “Can it, you pointy-eared bastard.” _You just like doing that, don’t you?_

A flicker of amusement. _It is interesting being in control of your body occasionally. …Do your shoulders usually feel so tight?_

McCoy rolled his eyes. _Yeah, years of hunching over schoolwork and patients will do that to a human. Bet you’ll be relieved to be out of my head, huh?_

_In some ways, yes._

_And just what do you mean by—_ A massive and intensely painful headache suddenly erupted behind McCoy’s eyes, and he gasped. The distinction between him and Spock was becoming unclear again, though he could sense Spock’s worry, and his equally intense pain.

“Bones?” Jim asked worriedly.

“…Have any more of that lexorin, Jim?” McCoy asked, doing his best to smile through the pain. Spock’s consciousness floated into his briefly and he shook his head, though no amount of shaking would dislodge his Vulcan hitchhiker.

“Oh, yes, Sarek gave me enough for the journey.” Jim hurried to grab the hypo and inject it into McCoy’s hand. “Sorry Bones – I lost track of the time.”

“It’s alright, Jim,” McCoy said. He could sense Spock distinctly again, but the headache was still raging. “I think…maybe I should get some rest.”

Jim nodded. “Of course.”

Legs a bit wobbly, McCoy stood and made his way back to his quarters. He realized off-handedly that they weren’t technically his quarters anymore, and that nothing about them would be at all personal, but it didn’t really matter. He just needed somewhere to lie down.

When he reached his quarters, it was a relief to sink down onto the cold standard-issue mattress. Even though he had been sleeping a lot recently, he felt utterly exhausted, like he’d gotten no rest at all.

_I apologize for the pain you are experiencing, Doctor,_ Spock said as soon as McCoy’s head hit the pillow. _Vulcan and human minds are not fully compatible, and thus I believe my presence here is causing your headaches._

_That’s actually what I wanted to ask you about – what even is this, Spock?_ McCoy pressed his palms into his eyes, trying to quell the headache. _Why…or_ how _I guess, are you in my head?_

_Have you heard of the Vulcan_ katra _?_ McCoy didn’t even have to consciously think no – Spock could just sense it from him. _It is the very essence of a Vulcan. It contains our thoughts, our memories, as well as all of our knowledge and experience. It is similar to what humans would call a ‘soul’, though I believe perhaps more complex. My_ katra _is what is now residing in you. Vulcans have the ability to place their_ katra _in others in case of their death, so that their knowledge may be preserved. Forgive me for not asking permission before transferring my_ katra _to you, you were unconscious at the time._

_Unconscious and damn furious, Spock. You had no right to do what you did,_ McCoy said, and here, in this intimate place, even his intense anger couldn’t cover up the emotions it usually would in the physical world. The pain, sorrow, and guilt rose into their shared consciousness, flapping in the wind for all to see.

Spock kindly didn’t comment on it. _I did what you would have done, what Jim would have done. I did not wish to die. However, I believe given the same situation again, I would do exactly the same thing._

_You bastard_. And then McCoy, embarrassingly, began to sob.

He couldn’t really explain in words what Spock did, then. It was like he wrapped him in a big, thick wool blanket, except the blanket was made of emotion. It was warmth; it was comfort; it was something unbelievably soft. And it was all Spock, as unbelievable as it was. It was like Spock’s mind was giving him a big old hug, and the image was enough to make him laugh a little through the tears.

When he finally stopped crying, he asked, _Is this situation permanent? Am I going to have you in my head forever?_

_No. Circumstances permitting, you will take me to Vulcan, where I will be transferred to either my father or a katric ark, a vessel designed to store_ katra _._

_So you’re still dead._ McCoy nearly started crying again.

_Yes. However…_ Spock paused for a moment. _My body is on Genesis._

_Yeah. I would’ve argued with Jim for doing it, but some Vulcan asshole decided to take over my body and mutter some nonsense to him that made him think I was crazy._

Light amusement filtered over to McCoy. _I apologize. Our minds were too intermixed for me to contact you properly until the lexorin was administered. I wasn’t enough of myself to reach you without inadvertently taking control of your body. My survival instinct was all that was really coherent._

McCoy couldn’t help but grin. _You telling me that, without the lexorin, you act completely illogically?_

Indignation settled over McCoy’s mind. _Survival instinct is not illogical, Doctor, for without it we would all perish._

_It didn’t seem to be working back in the reactor room_ , McCoy couldn’t help but snarl.

_The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the—_

_Spock, I’d like to go the rest of my life without_ ever _hearing that phrase again._

This gave Spock pause. _Witnessing my death was traumatic for you?_

_Of course it was damn traumatic! Do you even hear yourself? How would you have felt if you had seen me dying in there, or Jim?_

Spock would usually say something about being in control of his ‘feelings’. But he couldn’t here – without a distinct body, it was impossible for Spock to put up the emotional shields he would usually have in place. Because of this, McCoy felt like a punch to the face the sorrow that flooded through Spock.

_I…would be displeased._

_See?_ McCoy stubbornly wiped away another tear that was forming in his eye. _I became a doctor specifically so I would be able to help people in crises. How do you think it made me feel to just watch you die like that? Needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few – I just don’t,_ can’t _, go by that. Everyone deserves a right to live, including you._

_…Luckily for you, Doctor, there still may be a way to save me._

McCoy frowned. _I thought you said you were still dead?_

_I am. However, I believe there may be another alternative. Since my body has been on Genesis, it is possible that it may be revived, and my_ katra _can be put back into it._

_…And you’d be alive again?_

_Yes._

It would’ve been impossible for McCoy to hide his elation even in the physical world. He smiled so widely it hurt his cheeks. He hadn’t felt this good in _days_ , maybe years. _Spock, that’s…I think that’s the best thing I’ve ever heard._

_It is not a guaranteed success – many things could go wrong_ , Spock hurried to add. _I do not wish to get your hopes up._

_Too late._ McCoy was still grinning. His emotions felt like they were bubbling out of control – his happiness, love, relief, everything seemed to flood the space between them. _Spock, when you died, I…I felt like a part of me was missing. I was a mess. I mean, I was a mess because of this_ katra _business too, but…I couldn’t face that you had died. It hurt too much. I’m not…I don’t feel complete without you._

_Doctor…_ The emotion that hit him then was so strong it made him gasp. Love – so much of it that it drowned out the other confused tangle of emotions in their combined consciousness.

McCoy nudged Spock slightly, hardly daring to believe it. _I didn’t know you felt this way._

_I spent much of my time repressing that I felt this way._ It certainly wasn’t that way now – Spock’s emotions settled over McCoy’s mind so that it was impossible to sense anything else. _I did not know you felt this way as well, Doctor._

McCoy scoffed, but the cursed tears were welling up again. _Figures it would take you dying for either of us to get our acts together. I always meant to tell you, but the timing just never seemed right. And then you went and tried the_ kolinahr…

_I have not behaved in the most logical manner. I attempted the_ kolinahr _because my two halves were always at war, over everything, and it no longer felt like I could handle it. I wanted some semblance of…peace._

_You shouldn’t have to repress one side of you to achieve that – they’re both a part of you, Spock._

_I believe you are correct. There must be some way for Vulcans and humans to coincide._

McCoy couldn’t help but smile. _Well I damn sure hope so._

Spock pressed into McCoy, and McCoy sank into him, their combined love, happiness, and slight disbelief swirling around them like mist. It was extremely intimate, this sharing of head space, but it was a relief, too. Here, there could be no misunderstandings; here, everything was just laid out on the table, as it should be.

McCoy felt a little bit like he was drowning in it.

_…May I call you Leonard?_

McCoy huffed out a laugh. _I think you should._

_Leonard,_ Spock repeated, and McCoy shivered. _You should rest._

McCoy squirmed a little and, picking up on his reluctance, Spock asked, _Why does this distress you?_

_I…I don’t want to wake up and find that you’re gone,_ McCoy admitted, feeling small and vulnerable. _You’re the computer – what’s the probability I’ve made this all up in my head?_

_Nearly impossible,_ Spock said, which was surprising. He had never given such a low probability about anything before. _And it is actually impossible for me to be ‘gone’. I am a part of you until I am removed by another Vulcan or you lose your life. Considering there are no other Vulcans on board, it is impossible for me to be removed. And if you die, then you will not be conscious to care that I am also gone._

_Reassuring_ , McCoy thought sarcastically.

_I know you are being sarcastic, but you also still seem reluctant to rest._

_Well… I’ve been having strange dreams._ McCoy struggled to remember what they were about. They were more impressions than distinct memories, but he thought he could envision an orange desert, a large, cuddly brown beast. _I think they were on Vulcan. Were they memories from your childhood?_

_Likely. As I stated before,_ katra _hold all of the memories of the Vulcan in question. It is likely that your mind was trying to make sense of my_ katra _in the only way it knew how. Thus, in your unconscious state, you experienced dreams of my memories and experiences. It is fascinating that they seemed to focus on my childhood. Strictly speaking, I have spent most of my life away from Vulcan._

_But you grew up there; you developed there. It’ll always be a huge part of you, even if you never set foot there again._

_You are correct. Still, for the dreams to be so focused… I believe you and I are bonded more closely than I realized._

_It comes from the arguing,_ McCoy insisted.

_Flirting_ , Spock corrected, and McCoy laughed.

_Sure, there was some of that, too. I always got so caught up in our debates. Jim used to tease me relentlessly about it._

_I had a similar experience. Jim always found it amusing that I could not come up with a logical reason for why I enjoyed arguing with you so much._

McCoy grinned. _Aww, you saying I make you illogical? That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard._

_You are overwhelmingly illogical. Even a person as dedicated to logic as myself could not hold up forever._

Warmth bubbled up in McCoy’s chest, and it was all the more intense realizing that it wasn’t just his, but Spock’s too. Spock wanted this; Spock wanted _him_. It was unbelievable, but simultaneously there was no way McCoy could doubt it. Not when they were so close like this, not when they were sharing a head space.

_Spock…_

_Leonard._

Spock’s mind caressed his. It was gentle, probing, like Spock was asking for permission. McCoy responded in kind, sinking as much of his mind as he could into Spock’s bundle of consciousness, gasping when Spock surrounded him. It was so much more intimate than a kiss, than even sex.

It was like a union.

McCoy closed his eyes, and let Spock overwhelm him.

\--

It was a goddamn mess retrieving Spock’s body. Nine people were dead, including Jim’s son, the _Enterprise_ was destroyed, and now they were heading to Vulcan on a heavily damaged Klingon ship. Not exactly the best-case scenario, but when did that ever happen for them?

McCoy sat on a chair in what was passing for his quarters on the Klingon ship, elbows on his knees. He was staring at Spock’s unconscious—but _alive_ —body. It was just hitting him now how crazy this all was. Spock had died, but now his body was alive again, and McCoy had his mind safe and sound in his head until they could get to Vulcan to restore it to his body.

He didn’t care _what_ Spock said – Vulcans were weird as shit. And resilient and stubborn, if nothing else.

_It is not a completely inaccurate statement, all else considered._

McCoy snorted. He’d almost forgotten for a second that his thoughts weren’t private anymore. _What am I supposed to do with your_ katra _now?_

_I do not know the exact process. My father should be making the necessary arrangements on Vulcan, but Leonard…_

_Yeah?_

_It will likely be dangerous for you._

McCoy rolled his eyes. _Why are your Vulcan traditions always dangerous, have you noticed that?_

Amusement washed over him. _It is our way, I suppose._

McCoy’s amusement faded as he thought about it for real. The idea of it not working, of Spock dying _again_ was…too much. He couldn’t stand the thought of it.

He let out a long sigh, letting his head loll down. _I’m going to tell you something that I never thought I’d ever hear myself say. …But it seems I’ve missed you, and I…I don’t know if I can stand to lose you again._

Spock pressed against him, his _katra_ warm against McCoy’s. _I will do everything in my power not to leave you again, Leonard._

McCoy leaned into him. _I almost want to keep you in my head forever, where you’d be safe._

_That is not practical for either of us._ A pause. _Though the thought is not entirely unappealing._

_I suppose you’re right._ McCoy huffed out a laugh. _Not sure if I could listen to your sass 24/7._

Spock’s amusement settled over him, and for no reason it seemed, McCoy began to cry.

Spock’s mind encompassed his, a comforting force around his own mind, his jumbled thoughts. _Leonard, you are exhausted. We should rest._

_…No, I’ll be okay until we get to Vulcan._ McCoy sat up straighter and wiped his eyes. _If you’re right about the danger thing—and you usually are—then this may be the last time I get to speak to you. I’m not going to waste it like I did last time._

Spock was silent for a moment, thoughtful. _What do you wish to talk about?_

McCoy scoffed. _Hell, I don’t know. Got any opinions on Earth’s mental health facilities?_

And because it was Spock, he of course had many opinions about it. It wasn’t exactly an argument, because they agreed for the most part, but it was something normal, something easy. Something that wasn’t this whole ‘Spock died and transferred over to your body and it turns out he’s always loved you too and now neither of you may get the chance to experience that’, which was good, because that was just too much to think about right now. He’d start crying again, and then they’d never get this whole situation resolved.

He still felt dead-tired as he stood in front of the platform where the ceremony was taking place. He felt woefully unprepared.

The ceremony was dangerous, because of course it was. Not only was it dangerous, but it hadn’t been done for millennia, and it was skeptical if it had ever actually been done at all. McCoy tried not to roll his eyes as Spock needled him with a feeling that could only mean _I told you so._

“You must make the choice,” the Vulcan named T’Lar told him.

He could feel everyone staring at him, including Sarek, and he felt a brief flash of indignation. What, they thought he would come all this way just to say _no_? It was never a question. “I choose the danger. …Hell of a time to ask.”

There was a feeling in his mind like a sigh, and then Spock pressed against him. _Whatever happens, thank you. And…I love you. Do not ever forget that I do, even if I myself forget. I will remember with time, because I cannot imagine a version of myself that doesn’t love you._

McCoy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. _I love you, too. And I won’t stop loving you, even if I have to call you illogical until you remember._

Spock’s amusement, quite familiar by now, washed over him, and following Sarek’s lead, McCoy walked to the platform and laid down next to Spock’s body.


	2. Chapter 2

It was impossible to describe what it had been like.

He had been Spock. And then he had died, and he had become SpockandMcCoy. Even after physical separation, it had been difficult to sort out which part of him was ‘Spock’ and which was ‘McCoy’. It had been difficult even to be so suddenly separated from that other presence, that other person, that felt just as much a part of him as his own _katra_. Now alone in his own mind, he felt empty, lost in a vast sea in which nothing made sense.

He stuck close to Leonard during those first few hours, desperate for something to tie him to his old reality. He recognized the other faces, knew that he knew them, but he could not quite grasp how they were familiar. He remembered none of their names, though he knew he knew those as well.

He remembered Jim. He remembered his father, because even dying couldn’t make him forget him. But everything else he remembered was Leonard. The blue of his eyes, the expressiveness of his face. The feelings they had shared while they were connected through their minds.

He wanted to ask Leonard about them, because while he remembered them, he did not understand them. He did not have the context to understand them. He wasn’t able to pose his questions for a while, as they were surrounded by Vulcan healers for most of the first day, and something inside of him told him that Leonard would react badly if he asked about it in front of others. But the two of them were eventually left alone in a room that Spock was supposed to remember but didn’t so they could rest after the procedure.

However, when they were finally alone, neither of them seemed interested in resting.

Leonard stepped closer to him, looking at him uncertainly. “…How much do you remember?”

“Not much. Most things I do remember are…disconnected, without context. …I have a deep attachment to you,” Spock said, almost a question. He _knew_ this, deep down, but something still made him hesitate to say it.

“Yeah, you do.” Leonard searched his face, and then took another step forward. “I have a deep attachment to you, too.”

They stared at each other for a long time. They were standing so close that Spock was essentially breathing in the air Leonard was exhaling, and though some part of him told him this was illogical, he didn’t step away. Another part of him knew he wanted this.

Spock pressed his fingers to Leonard’s face, feeling his psi points. They were so familiar with each other that it took no effort to touch Leonard’s mind as Leonard pulled him down by his robe and kissed him.

It was easy, so easy, and it felt right. They were connected again, they were one again, as they should be.

However, there was some doubt floating in Leonard’s mind. _Should we really be doing this? I mean…you just got your body back. You’re not really…_ yourself _yet._

_There is nothing else I would rather be doing,_ Spock replied. He did not add that he could not remember anything that was even remotely more important than this, for it did not matter. He could not fathom a version of himself that didn’t want this, that didn’t want Leonard. His body practically yearned for him; all he remembered was him.

Surely that meant something.

Leonard was still unsure, so Spock kissed him more intensely, and brought to the forefront of their shared consciousness everything he still remembered about Leonard. The brightness of his eyes when they argued. The nearly overwhelming feelings he held for him. The respect for his mind, for his thoughts, for his ideas.

Leonard melted into him, and something like relief spread through both of them.

_Finally._

Spock couldn’t say for sure who thought it. Perhaps it was both of them.

Hands roamed under garments and across skin, and Spock marveled at the intensity of it. He had no memory of if it was supposed to feel this way, but the pulse of Leonard’s emotions beneath his fingertips was intoxicating, and Spock resumed his exploration with even more fervor. He wanted, _needed,_ more. His robe fell to the floor with little resistance, and Leonard’s clothes followed just as quickly. Leonard pushed him down into the bed, gentle and firm and loving, and Spock’s breath left him in a harsh exhale.

In Spock’s freshly restored mind, there was nothing but this.

\--

Spock spent the first full day back in his body in bed with Leonard.

He could not seem to keep his hands off of him. Every time they disconnected, even for just a second, the gaping hole of Spock’s memories stretched to the forefront of his mind, and it was terrifying. The amount of memory and experience he had temporarily lost was overwhelming. But when he was with Leonard, he felt content, full, complete. What he had lost did not seem so overwhelming compared to what he was gaining.

For he knew they had not done this before. He would’ve remembered, he was sure. He could not forget the way Leonard’s breath hitched when Spock touched him; he could not forget the way Leonard’s body felt under his hands. He could not forget the noises Leonard made when he climaxed. He could not forget the feelings that tumbled over each other in their combined consciousness, the affection, the care, the love. 

But when he wasn’t touching him, he was less sure. When he wasn’t touching him, the hole in his mind seemed to grow larger, and so he clung to Leonard like a life buoy.

Spock brushed the dip of Leonard’s collarbone with his nose, and Leonard sighed.

_Spock._ Leonard’s thoughts were amused as he drew his fingers through Spock’s hair. _Aren’t you supposed to be resting?_

_I am._ Spock moved up to press his lips to Leonard’s neck. _Is this not the definition of ‘sleeping’?_

Leonard drew back slightly, a huge grin on his face as he rubbed his thumbs along the tips of Spock’s ears. Spock shivered. _Did you just make a joke?_

Spock propped himself up on his elbow so he could look at Leonard properly. _T’Lar told me I should sleep. That is what I am doing._

Leonard blinked at him, and then dissolved into bubbly laughter. Spock watched him, fascinated by the tingly feelings it shot through his fingers where they still lightly pressed against Leonard’s psi points. _She told you to sleep. And you thought—you thought it meant_ this.

He laughed all over again, and Spock frowned slightly. _What is so amusing?_

_Nothing, nothing._ Still grinning, Leonard cupped Spock’s face and kissed him. _Just think we should ‘sleep’ more, is all._

_I agree._

They spent all day together sleeping, and in the morning Spock realized that the feeling plaguing his stomach for the last few hours was hunger. He had not eaten since he had first been put back in his body, and Leonard had not either. He must be hungry. Spock stroked Leonard’s hair, who was unconscious and snoring, and tried to remember what he enjoyed eating.

A chime sounded somewhere in the room, and Spock tracked the strange noise to a small button on the wall. He stared at it for a moment, unable to remember its function, and then got up to press it.

“Spock,” Sarek’s voice said. “Are you quite rested? We should start your recovery as soon as possible so you do not lose your memories permanently.”

Spock hesitated. The last thing he wanted to do was leave Leonard, but he equally did not want to risk losing important memories. He wanted to understand the context for the way he felt about Leonard; he wanted to remember their history. And maybe, with his father’s assistance, he wouldn’t feel like he would forget him if he left him for even a moment.

“Yes, Father. Where shall I meet you?” 

“I will come to your room. I will merely be two minutes.”

The comm—for that was what it was called, Spock remembered—went silent. Spock put on his robe, wrinkled from a day on the floor, and returned to the bed. He sat on the edge of it and pressed his fingers to Leonard’s cheek. It was comforting and familiar to feel the buzz of contentment on Leonard’s skin, even when dulled from unconsciousness.

Another chime sounded, different from the comm. Spock thought for a moment, and then identified it as coming from the door. “Come in.”

Sarek walked in, saw the two of them, and raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment on it. “Come, Spock. We have much work to do.”

“Very well.” Spock reluctantly withdrew his fingers from Leonard’s face, stood, and followed his father out the door. He turned back to look at Leonard before the door shut, and hoped that he would find him in his bed again in the evening.

\--

Sarek began Spock’s recovery by reintroducing him to the teachings of Surak. He spoke of the ancient barbarity on Vulcan, and how Surak had led their people to peace during the Time of Awakening. He spoke of logic, and how the complete pursuit of it was what Vulcans sought to achieve all their lives. He spoke of emotions, of how strong Vulcan emotions were, and thus how important emotional suppression was in the pursuit of logic.

“Father,” Spock said when Sarek was done. “The emotions I possess…confuse me. I do not understand them.”

Sarek nodded. “No doubt some of Doctor McCoy’s emotions are still lingering in your mind from the _katra_ transference. They will fade with time, and as we restore your memory, your own emotions should make more sense to you.”

Spock frowned. The doctor’s—or who he had been told was the doctor, but who still felt like an extension of himself—emotions did not feel foreign. They were part of him, and they felt like they had always been a part of him.

It only took the day for him to realize this was not how it was supposed to be.

It became increasingly clear as Sarek taught him about Vulcan culture and tradition that he and Leonard were not a bonded pair, and never had been. They had never had a marriage ceremony; they had never gone through _pon farr_ together. Spock did remember a marriage ceremony, and that Leonard had been there, but Sarek assured him that he had not ended up marrying anyone at that time.

But if this was true, then why did Spock feel such a strong connection to Leonard? Was it possibly just because his _katra_ had been stored temporarily in his mind?

“We have not been on close speaking terms for many years, but you never mentioned a relationship with Doctor McCoy, or anyone else,” Sarek said. “You will have to ask him.”

That raised another burning question. “We are not on close speaking terms? But we are father and son.”

Sarek nodded. “This is a bit more complicated to explain.”

“I have to remember everything to fully return to myself,” Spock said, and Sarek tipped his head in agreement.

Sarek began teaching him of their family history, and Spock found that, as his memories and knowledge slowly returned, his thoughts turned to Leonard less and less. 

\--

That night, Spock returned to his quarters to find Leonard sitting on his bed, taking off his boots. He was clothed like he had spent the day elsewhere, and he glanced up and smiled as Spock approached him. Spock looked at him, and was startled to realize it was like looking into the face of a stranger. He no longer remembered Leonard’s thoughts and intense emotions, nor did he remember his own, that had seemed so clear just that morning – they were like dreams, escaping from him the longer he was awake.

“Hi. Hope you don’t mind I’m here again.” Leonard’s smile faltered when Spock did not answer. He stood from the bed and stepped towards him, searching his face. “You seem…different.”

Surak’s words were fresh in Spock’s mind. “An individual’s personality is based on the sum of their experiences throughout their lifetime. As I have not fully recalled mine, it is logical that I would seem ‘different’.”

“…Well that certainly sounds like you.” Leonard shuffled his feet. “How did that go, anyway? Sarek’s lessons.”

“They were beneficial. I remember more than I did this morning.”

Leonard bit his lip. “Good.”

They just stood there for a moment.

“Were we ever in a relationship?” Spock asked.

Leonard seemed shocked by this question. “…No. We, uh, didn’t realize we were mutually attracted to each other until after you died.”

Spock nodded. “So we simply wished to engage in sexual intercourse.”

“Well, no, I—” Leonard floundered. “…Maybe it was that way for you, but I wanted…I _want_ something more.”

Spock frowned. “Something more? Like marriage?”

Leonard’s mouth dangled open, and he took a moment to respond. “Well, I guess eventually, maybe—but I meant more that I want a long-term romantic relationship with you.”

“…Ah.” Spock thought over this. Sarek had told him that emotional suppression was an important part of being Vulcan, but he had not told him how it worked when entering a relationship. Perhaps Vulcans did not engage in romantic relationships, merely sexual ones. “I am not sure I am capable of that.”

Leonard frowned. “What do you mean?”

“My father has explained to me that emotional suppression is a vital part of being Vulcan. I currently possess emotions, but they most likely do not belong to me, or if they do, I will eventually relearn how to suppress them. Either way, once they fade, it will be impossible for me to be in a romantic relationship. It would thus be illogical to pursue a romantic relationship with you under these conditions.” Spock paused. “Though a purely sexual one would be a possibility.”

Leonard recoiled like Spock had slapped him. What he had said had hurt him, but Spock did not have the capability to know how, or what to do with this information. He said the only thing he could think of that might be appropriate. “You do not wish to have a sexual relationship?”

Leonard opened his mouth and then closed it again. “I…I don’t think we should even be discussing this until you get all your memories back.”

“…That is logical.” Leonard still looked uncomfortable, so Spock said, “Is there a reason you came to my room?”

It was obviously the wrong thing to say. Leonard flinched and dropped his gaze to the floor. “Well, I…I don’t have anywhere else to sleep.”

Spock nodded. “I see, then you may use my bed. Meditation will suffice for myself.”

Leonard bit his lip and shook his head. Spock couldn’t read his expression as he took a step back. “No, I… Look, this was a bad idea anyway – I should’ve known you weren’t ready. I’m…I’m just going to go. I’ll find Amanda and ask her for somewhere to sleep.”

Leonard sidestepped him, still not looking at him. “See you around…I guess.”

“Around where?” Spock asked, but Leonard just shook his head again and ducked out the door. 

Spock watched him leave and wondered why it felt like a part of him had left, too.

\--

McCoy wandered through the corridors, feeling empty.

That first day without Spock had been…hard. He had woken up that morning to an empty bed, an empty mind, and felt like an arm was missing, or a liver. There was a void within him that had never been there before, and it had terrified him. He had pulled out his tricorder and shakily given himself a physical, but it claimed he was fine.

How could he be _fine_? Something was wrong, something was _missing_ —

It took longer than it should’ve to remember that it was because Spock was gone. Spock’s _katra_ had only been with him for a short time, relatively, but that was all it had taken to grow accustomed to sharing that space with him. He hadn’t been alone in his body for weeks, and it felt like he had never been alone in his body, like he wasn’t supposed to be.

He had tried looking for Spock, feeling shaky and weak, but found Jim instead. Jim had taken one look at him and marched him straight to the cafeteria.

He had felt better after he’d eaten, the pain and the emptiness less debilitating, but he still didn’t feel quite right. He didn’t know if the transference hadn’t been complete or if it was just normal to feel this way, like something so essentially part of him was missing. He was antsy all day to get back to Spock, and then when he had… He’d thought Spock felt the same way, and he’d certainly seemed to that first day, but now… To be so blatantly turned away by him, to be told in so many words that it was impossible for him to love him… It had _hurt_.

The worst part was that he knew, he _knew_ that Spock would forget everything, that he’d need to give him time to recover, but he had just seemed so… _normal_ , at first. So eager.

He rubbed his face roughly. He was a damn fool. “Oh, God.”

“Doctor McCoy?”

He glanced up sharply, only to relax when he saw it was just Amanda. She had come out of a doorless entry way, and when McCoy peeked in, he saw that it led out to a patio where Sarek was sitting drinking a cup of tea and staring out into an extravagant garden. McCoy glanced away hurriedly when Sarek turned to look at him, only to find Amanda peering at him in concern. “Are you alright?”

“Fine, just fine. …I was looking for you, actually.” He shuffled awkwardly. Nothing to do but just say it. “I was wondering if you have a spare bedroom I could use?”

She looked surprised. “You don’t have any quarters? Where did you sleep last night?”

He cringed, and her eyes softened. “With Spock? I thought it might have been something like that.” She gently grabbed his elbow and guided him further into the house. “Come with me.”

“…I’ve really made a mess of things,” he said miserably as he followed her down the hall. “I didn’t give him time like I was supposed to. I think I really confused him.”

She shook her head. “You haven’t ruined anything, Leonard. Everything will be confusing for him for a while, I’m afraid.”

McCoy sighed. “But I’m a doctor – I was supposed to help him recover, not…”

“You stayed with him when everything was new and confusing for him. You gave him the support he needed to move onto recalling his memories and knowledge.” She turned to smile at him. “That’s not an insignificant part of his recovery, Leonard. I’m glad my son has someone who cares for him so much.”

McCoy ducked his head, suddenly embarrassed. They walked in silence until they reached a corridor on the second floor. She keyed open one of the doors to an empty room with incense burning in the corner. She turned to look at him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know it must be hard for you – he was part of you, and it must feel strange to be without him. But right now, distance may be what you both need, so you can sort out what truly belongs to each of you.”

“You’re probably right,” McCoy sighed. He looked in at the empty bed and tried to ignore the loneliness that gaped inside of him. “…I still dream of the Forge, you know. I’ve never seen it before, but when I came here, it was familiar. It felt like home.”

“Things will be confusing for you for a while, too. But if you ever need a listening ear, my room is just down the hall.” Amanda nodded at him. “Goodnight, Doctor.”

“Goodnight ma’am.”

He stepped inside and waited for the doors to shut behind him before collapsing onto the bed. The hollowness seemed to encompass him when he was alone, and as he stared up at the ceiling he wondered if he would ever feel whole again.

\--

Spock didn’t leave his computers much the next few months. Only to eat and to sleep, both of which were essentially done alone. He was not physically alone when he ate, as his mother insisted that he eat with his friends, but he still felt alone when he sat with them. He did not understand the references they made, the jokes. He did not know what to discuss with them. None of them seemed interested in astrophysics or math, and Spock did not remember what he had used to discuss with any of them. They tried to ask him questions, but his memory was still so full of holes that he often did not have an answer for them.

Leonard refused to even look at him.

They had not spoken since they had decided to wait before potentially pursuing a sexual relationship. When he was done with his lessons for the day, Spock would turn the conversation over and over in his mind, trying to figure out what he had said that had hurt Leonard so much. Spock believed that he had approached the problem quite logically, but Leonard obviously did not feel the same. He knew the doctor was a highly emotional man, and that logic seldom applied to him, but Spock remembered no other way to approach a problem. What was there, without logic?

All Spock knew was that emotional expression was inappropriate for Vulcans, so he took all of the pain and loneliness and confusion that plagued him and buried them deep in his consciousness, where he was sure they belonged.

They were easiest to ignore when he was focused on his lessons, so it was beneficial that he spent almost all of his time there. He was remembering more each day, and he felt confident that full recovery of his knowledge at least would not take much longer.

The morning before his final testing, Spock climbed up to the tip of Mount Seleya to focus his mind. Meditation was still something he was relearning, as it required him to look inside at himself, and he still found parts that he did not understand. Sometimes when he meditated, he saw images of a baby human girl and a giant peach tree outside of a log cabin, but he was getting better at recognizing which memories were Leonard’s. But his own memories were still confusing; he could not understand the logic of them, and he had trouble piecing together which memories came before others chronologically.

His father and the Vulcan healers seemed satisfied with Spock’s recovery, but Spock still felt like there was something missing, something important.

He wasn’t sure what to do about it, however. He passed all of the questions the computers threw at him – didn’t that mean he was fully recovered? Why then did he have so much trouble understanding his own mind?

Sitting cross-legged close to the edge of the cliff, Spock took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He tried to focus his attention on the memories he understood the least. He remembered speaking to his father about deciding to join Starfleet, and the pain that had twisted inside him when Sarek had explicitly disapproved of his decision. He remembered stealing the _Enterprise_ in order to take an injured Captain Pike to Talos IV. He remembered sitting next to a dying Leonard, holding his hands and stroking his face as he willed him to live. He remembered, just before he died, holding his hand up to Jim’s and telling him he would always be his friend.

They all seemed to be connected somehow, but Spock could not grasp what it was.

Opening his eyes, Spock took a moment to just stare out at Vulcan. It was comforting being on his home planet, but he also had the distinct impression that it was not the place he truly called home. Those people did not live here.

He stood, deciding that he would not gain much else from mediation today. Movement caught his eye, and he looked down to see Jim talking to Leonard and the others. Repairs were apparently moving quickly on the Klingon ship, and they would soon be leaving Vulcan, Spock included. It was a relief to know he would soon be leaving home and returning to his duties. It felt like he had been away for too long.

Spock headed back down to his computers, sufficiently prepared for his final lesson.

“Computer, resume testing,” he said, and sat down.

He went through most of the questions quickly and accurately. He won the several games of chess the computer posed to him. He was feeling certain that he would pass his final day of testing when the computer asked him a question it had never asked him before:

“How do you feel?”

Spock just stared at the computer in front of him.

“How do you feel?” it asked again. “How do you feel?”

“I do not understand the question,” he said.

“What is it, Spock?” a voice called from behind him. He looked over his shoulder to find his mother standing in the doorway, and he turned to face her properly.

“I do not understand the question, Mother.”

“You’re half human – the computer knows that,” Amanda said, folding her hands in front of her.

This clarified nothing. “The question is irrelevant.”

Amanda walked further into the room. “Spock, the retraining of your mind has been in the Vulcan way, so you may not understand feelings, but as my son, you have them. You may have thought they were Doctor McCoy’s, but they are not – at least not anymore. They’ll surface, just as your stronger, wilder Vulcan emotions will as well. Vulcans are not emotionless, Spock, despite how much they would like to be.”

Spock considered this. It made some sense – Spock had recognized emotions within himself, and while he did not understand them, it was logical to assume that they did not belong to Leonard, as it had been months since the _katra_ transference. However, he still did not understand what they had to do with his testing, with his recovery. Such questions had never been posed by the computer before.

And yet, his mother seemed to think they were important, so he would consider them. “As you wish, since you deem them of value, but I cannot wait here to find them.”

Amanda frowned. “Why? Where must you go?”

“I must go to Earth to offer testimony.”

“You do this for friendship,” Amanda said. It was not phrased as a question.

Spock frowned. Why would he do such a thing for friendship? It was not logical. “I do it because I was there.”

This answer seemed to trouble his mother, though he did not know why. “…Spock, does the good of the many outweigh the good of the one?”

Spock was a bit surprised at this question. The answer seemed obvious to him. “I would accept that as an axiom.”

Amanda considered him. “Then you stand here alive because of a mistake made by your flawed, feeling, human friends. They have sacrificed their futures because they believed that the good of the one, _you_ , was more important to them.”

Spock blinked at her. “Humans make illogical decisions.”

“They do indeed,” Amanda agreed, smiling a bit. “But I would appreciate it if, when you’re done with your tests, you’d take a moment to consider why your friends felt it was necessary to make that illogical decision. Because I think you’ll find, if you ask them, they would never have considered doing the opposite.”

She turned to leave, and Spock considered her words as he watched her walk out the door. It was true that the actions of the people he had called friends made no sense to him. They should not have risked themselves for his sake, and yet they all had, without question. And Spock had apparently done the same in the past. 

But as hard as he thought about it, he could not find any logic to the actions. Perhaps it made sense that humans had taken such drastic measures, but Spock himself? Totally illogical.

He returned to his computers, where the same question sat blinking at him.

How did he feel? How he felt was irrelevant.

And yet somehow, as soon as he told the computer as much, he knew it would tell him he had gotten the question wrong.

\--

McCoy was worried about Spock.

It had been months, and Spock had yet to display anything like he had the first few days back in his body. Instead, it was logic this, logic that, no matter what anyone said. He had none of his humor that he used to, and when McCoy looked into his eyes, usually so expressive, it was like looking into a void. It scared him, but he didn’t know what to do about it.

McCoy himself had finally adapted to living by himself in his body again, though sometimes he still dreamed of the desert and a pet _sehlat_. He was staying away from Spock like he was supposed to. It hurt like hell, but it was better than interacting with him and seeing how blankly he looked at him. McCoy had never even noticed that Spock used to look at him with so much brightness in his eyes, so much warmth, and he felt like a damn idiot for not noticing sooner, for wasting so much time.

Especially since now it felt like he’d _never_ get the chance to be with Spock. Not when he was like this.

Because sure, his Vulcan side was recovering, but his human half sure as hell wasn’t. McCoy hadn’t even realized how much Spock’s human side had influenced him, despite his best efforts to suppress it, until he saw how Spock acted without it. He was expressionless, endlessly logical, completely unimpressed with human emotion. He didn’t understand jokes, he didn’t retort with dry sarcasm when Jim or McCoy said something stupid, he didn’t smile that little smile he sometimes did. McCoy rarely even saw his eyebrow raise. Instead, his emotions were getting completely buried by his logic in a way that they never had before.

And now they were just going home like nothing had ever happened.

McCoy had agreed completely with returning to face the consequences of what they’d done. They’d broken several pretty serious Starfleet regulations saving Spock, and while he would never, _could_ never, regret it, that didn’t mean they shouldn’t stand trial for it. So he was fine with that. He wasn’t fine with going home on the Klingon flea trap that had killed so many people. He wasn’t fine with being stuck on a tiny ship with nowhere to hide his disastrous feelings for Spock.

He wasn’t fine with the way Jim Kirk was looking at him like he was handling something fragile. 

Jim placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “You seem grumpy, Bones.”

“I’m always grumpy,” McCoy deflected, habitually.

“Usually I’d agree with you—” McCoy swatted half-heartedly at him, “—but you weren’t that first day. When Spock was first returned to his body, you were practically _glowing_.”

McCoy winced. He hadn’t told anyone about what had happened with Spock. Amanda had surmised the situation, and who the hell knew what Sarek knew, but McCoy had never explicitly said it out loud. It still hurt, still made him feel like a fool.

But Jim was his friend, and maybe it was time to talk about this. “Well, when Spock was first restored to his body, neither of us really…felt right, without the other. He was supposed to rest after his procedure, and I followed him to make sure he was alright. And Jim, he seemed so… _normal_ then. Like our Spock. Anyway, one thing led to another, and well…I slept with him. A lot.”

Jim blinked. “…Sex is logical?”

McCoy jumped, and then glared at him. “ _That’s_ all you got from that?!”

“You’ve seen this Spock! He doesn’t _feel_. Or, at least, he doesn’t show it,” Jim defended himself. “So to engage in that with you with no emotions…”

“We were still…connected then.” McCoy crossed his arms and stared down at the floor. It was impossible to describe it, what it had been like. “You don’t know what it’s like to have someone in your… _spirit_ like that. I felt everything he felt. When we were separated, it was like…I was _missing_ something. I’m sure for him it was much worse, because all he _had_ then was me. We just…I think we both just needed to feel connected again.

“But then his father got him started up on his computers, and his logic, and now…now it’s all buried again. And I _know_ why it’s happening, but he hardly even looks at me.” McCoy grimaced. “Amanda’s worried his human side isn’t developing properly. Hell, _I’m_ worried that it’s gone forever. I always joked that Spock was a computer, but now he really _is_. I…I want the old Spock back.” 

Jim sighed. “I do too, Bones. But what do we do? The Vulcan healers told me they consider him fully recovered.”

“That’s because, if he was a full Vulcan, he would be.” McCoy scuffed his boot against the ground. “I don’t know, Jim. As usual, we’re in a situation where it’s impossible to know what the fuck to do.”

Jim was quiet for a moment, thinking. McCoy glanced up at the mountain, and was shocked to realize he could see a figure all in white standing up there, watching them. It must be Spock, and McCoy looked back at him until he turned and walked back down the mountain.

There must be a way to bring him back. There _had_ to be.

“I didn’t know you felt that way about him, Bones,” Jim said finally, drawing McCoy’s attention back to him.

McCoy smiled without any warmth or humor. “Would it surprise you to know that Spock returned my feelings? And that neither of us told the other until Spock was dead?”

“Now that last part doesn’t surprise me one bit.” Jim chuckled, but then abruptly became serious. “Is this why you’ve been avoiding him?”

McCoy looked away. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh come on, don’t play that game with me. You don’t speak to him, you don’t look at him. You said he never looks at you, but you’re doing the same thing to him. It’s been years since I’ve been able to sit with the both of you without you two arguing around me.”

“I…” McCoy stared down at the red dust settled on his boots. “I was supposed to stay away, those first few days, so we could sort out our thoughts and memories properly.”

Jim raised an eyebrow. “And now?”

“Now… Goddammit, Jim, it _hurts_. I don’t…I don’t know how I should act around him anymore. He’d just stare at me blankly if I tried to argue, or joke, or do anything I used to.”

“Bones.” Jim placed a hand on his shoulder. “I think you need to go see him, talk to him. If he loves you too, then you’re not doing either of you a favor by avoiding him like this. He’ll never remember if you never interact with him again.”

McCoy sighed heavily. “You’re right, Jim, I know you are. Guess I really am a coward.”

Jim smiled encouragingly and put a hand on his shoulder. “Now that’s not the Bones I know.”

McCoy rolled his eyes as Jim left to check on the repairs on the Klingon ship, but he thought about what he had said. Maybe he was being more of a baby than he usually would be. He sure didn’t give up so easily when trying to save a patient’s life, or find the cure to a virus. But he’d never gotten through a romantic relationship without getting burned, and that was what seemed to stop him the most. If he never tried, he’d never get hurt.

But he’d never be happy, either. And he had promised Spock he would help him remember.

So he turned towards Mount Seleya, deciding it was about time he paid Spock a visit. When he got to the base of the stairs, he was surprised to find Sarek also preparing to climb up.

“Doctor McCoy,” Sarek said, nodding at him. “I trust you are well?”

“I’m alright,” he said, “I think I’ve mostly recovered from the _katra_ transference. Just have some strange dreams sometimes.”

“That is normal, as far as I can tell from the ancient texts,” Sarek said as they began to climb the steps side by side.

“I wish the ancient Vulcans had written more about this whole procedure, so we knew if Spock was recovering correctly or not,” McCoy complained. “Though I can’t imagine it was something that happened very often…”

“It was a very rare procedure. All we know is that it will take time for my son to fully recover, perhaps a long time.”

McCoy nodded. “Yeah, Spock warned me that—”

“He warned you?” Sarek interrupted. “You were in communication with my son while he was merely a _katra_ residing within you?”

“Yeah, once I was given the lexorin we could communicate telepathically.” McCoy eyed him warily. “…Is that unusual?”

“…Yes. I have never heard of a _katra_ being able to communicate on such a level, especially with a non-Vulcan.” Sarek looked him up and down. “My son must have an extremely strong bond with you.”

McCoy didn’t know what to say. Spock had said something similar, but he doubted he had shared anything of the sort with Sarek.

They reached the top of the stairs, and Sarek turned to face him, looking at him thoughtfully. “Perhaps what I told my son was untrue.”

McCoy frowned, but before he could ask him just what the hell he meant by that, Sarek nodded to him in farewell. “Good day, Doctor.”

“You’re not going to visit Spock?” he asked, surprised.

Sarek hesitated. “I do not believe my presence would be…appreciated at this time.”

He turned and walked away down the hallway. McCoy watched him go for a moment before heading into the room where Spock’s test computers were. Amanda was already there, leaning against the wall by the entrance.

He nodded at her. “Ma’am.”

She nodded back at him, glanced at her son, and then beckoned him back out of the room. He followed her, but sent her a questioning look, and she smiled. “I want to talk to you, but you know how it is with Vulcan hearing.”

“Unfortunately,” McCoy sighed, thinking of a mumbled but audible comment about their best first officer in the fleet. He’d been ignorant then, falling in love but not realizing it yet, and there was a part of him that missed the simplicity of it. Not that things were ever _simple_ with Spock, but at least he’d known what to do, how to act, then.

“I sneaked a question into Spock’s testing,” Amanda admitted, and McCoy raised his eyebrows at her in surprise. She waved away his expression. “I felt that I had to. I knew the Vulcans who designed these tests wouldn’t ask any questions to test the recovery of his human side, and I had to know how it was. So I had the computer ask him how he felt.”

McCoy winced. He could imagine how well that had gone. “What did he say?”

She smiled tightly. “He said the question was irrelevant.”

“…Isn’t that what he would normally say?” McCoy asked. It sure sounded like something he used to say all the time in their arguments.

“Yes, but before he would say it just ever so slightly guiltily, because he knew he was lying. This time, he said it like he truly didn’t understand how his feelings could possibly be involved.”

McCoy let out a long sigh. That was bad. Spock had always understood his emotions, even if he hated them and wanted to distance himself from them. It had always been a personal choice, not ignorance. He thought back to when Spock had told him that he thought Vulcans were incapable of being in romantic relationships. McCoy had _known_ that was wrong, but instead of correcting him he had gotten angry, hurt. As usual, his emotions were much too involved in the situation – Spock had always claimed they only hindered him.

Maybe he’d been right.

He really was an idiot – why had he stayed away for so long? He should’ve been right there, helping Spock through his recovery. Instead, he had been selfish, only thinking of what Spock’s recovery meant for him.

What kind of friend, or doctor even, was he?

“He spoke of you often,” Amanda said suddenly. They both watched Spock at his computers, solving problems quicker than either of them could follow. “Did you know that?”

“…No.”

“He never called me as much as I would’ve liked, but when he did he always spoke of you.” She chuckled. “At first, he always used to complain about you, telling me about how illogical and emotional you were. But somehow it shifted into respect for your work, enjoyment of your company. Though the words were the same, it didn’t really feel like he was complaining anymore.”

McCoy stared down at his boots, feeling warm. It was…humbling to think that Spock had spoken to his mother about him so often. Why had they never said anything to each other? Why had they wasted so much time?

“When Sarek first heard of Spock’s death, he assumed that Spock had transferred his _katra_ to Captain Kirk,” Amanda continued. “But I had a feeling that, if he had transferred it to anyone, it would be to you. There was just something about the way he spoke of you. I’ve never seen him so animated about another person before.”

She frowned. “I think I was wrong, when I told you you should keep your distance from him. I thought his memories would come back on their own—Sarek insisted that they would—but…”

She trailed off, and they both turned their gazes back to Spock. He was sitting rigidly, staring intensely at his computers. There wasn’t an ounce of curiosity in his gaze, no fascinated eyebrow-raising. He was sitting so still he was like a statue, and it was damn _odd_.

“I don’t think his human side will ever come back unless you and Jim and the others help him.” Amanda pressed her lips together, and McCoy jolted a bit realizing it was a habit Spock must have picked up from her. “I wasn’t enough to develop his human side when he was growing up. I don’t think I saw anything of it from him until he was on the _Enterprise_ with you and Jim. When we visited, and you were teasing him…he smiled. I hadn’t seen him smile since he was very small.”

She turned to look at him. “I think you need to do that for him again. I know it will be hard, but something about you made Spock willing to address his human side. And I think he needs you to be able to do it again.”

“…I’m starting to understand that,” he said, then huffed out a small laugh. “Never thought I’d see the day that someone would think _I_ have an influence on Spock.”

She smiled. “I think you always have.”

McCoy stared at Spock’s stiff back and squared his shoulders. Suddenly, everything he’d been worrying about recently didn’t seem to mean a damn thing. Sure, it would hurt like hell to be around him when he was so unemotional and convinced that he couldn’t feel anything for McCoy, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that Spock wasn’t himself, and McCoy was the only person who could help him come back to himself fully.

And if their relationship was never the same, and Spock ended up rejecting him… Well, it was worth the sacrifice if Spock could be himself again. McCoy owed him that much, at least.

Mind made up, McCoy sidled up next to Spock, glancing at his computer screen. The question displayed was on a dense topic of astrophysics that McCoy couldn’t make heads or tails of, but Spock answered it in mere seconds. Clearing his throat, McCoy said, “So…we’re going to Earth soon.”

“Indeed.” Spock glanced up at him briefly and then answered the next question. It seemed to be the last one, as the screen went black after. However, Spock still sat there, staring at it like he was waiting for it to question him again.

McCoy stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets, feeling unbearably awkward. “I’m going to come back after whatever goes down on Earth. I want…well, I think we should talk about some things.”

“That will not be necessary,” Spock said, standing from his computers and turning to face him.

The statement was like a punch to the gut. McCoy hadn’t expected it to hurt so much – he’d thought he’d prepared for this. Obviously he hadn’t, and the thought just made him angry. “Oh, I see, I’m not worth your _precious time_ now—”

“You misunderstand,” Spock interrupted. McCoy glanced up at him, looking for something, _anything_ , that would show what Spock was thinking or feeling, but of course his face was completely blank. “That will not be necessary because I’m accompanying you to Earth.”

“What?” McCoy just gaped at him. “What do you mean you’re coming with us?”

“I was associated with acts of sabotage,” Spock said. “It is logical that I come and offer testimony. The Admiral has already approved my voyage.”

_Damn you, Jim._ “Spock, you were _dead_! How could you offer testimony?!”

Spock raised his eyebrow. “You forget that I was aware of your actions while residing in your mind. I can provide an accurate account of what occurred.”

“But I mean…” McCoy gestured at him vaguely. “You’re not…recovered. I don’t know how great of an idea it is for you to leave Vulcan.”

“My healers have cleared me as fully recovered.” Spock tucked his hands into his robe sleeves. “I am coming to Earth, Doctor. Therefore, we can discuss whatever you wish to onboard the _Bounty_.”

McCoy jolted in surprise at Spock’s use of the dumb name he’d come up with. It wasn’t often that Spock went along with his antics. So of course, when he did, it was about something stupid and not about how he _shouldn’t be leaving Vulcan_.

Sighing loudly in frustration, he glared at Spock. “Well, glad to see your stubbornness has recovered.”

Spock blinked at him. “Vulcans are not stubborn.”

“And they don’t lie, Mister Spock,” McCoy said pointedly, tilting his chin up challengingly.

But Spock just stared at him blankly. “That is correct.”

McCoy sighed again, deflating a little. This was going to be a damn long ride. “Let’s just get going, then.”

They walked to the open doorway where Amanda was still standing.

“I will see you again,” Spock told her, nodding his head at her. 

She smiled and pressed two of her fingers to Spock’s cheek. “Be safe.”

They walked down the stairs in silence, McCoy lost in thought. He was trying to remember how things had been between him and Spock in the beginning, when they’d first met. From what he remembered, it had always been incredibly easy to rile Spock up. Even before they had gotten into the habit of biting into each other just for the fun of it, all McCoy had to do was offhandedly suggest that Spock felt something and he’d get a whole lecture on Vulcans and the pursuit of logic. But with this Spock…it wasn’t going to be easy.

But there was no sense in whining about it – his job was to needle him, so he would needle him.

They walked up the ramp of the _Bounty_ , and McCoy took a deep breath. “So, back on this death trap, huh?”

Spock just looked at him. “I fail to see how that term encapsulates the starship we are about to step onto. No one has died upon it, nor were we ever trapped on it.”

McCoy grit his teeth. He never would’ve thought Spock could be even more irritating than he had been already. “Then what about the _Enterprise_? Several people died on her, and they were trapped there when they died. Would you permit me to call the _Enterprise_ a death trap?”

McCoy’s sarcasm flew right over Spock’s head, as he knew it would. “I suppose that would be acceptable.”

McCoy huffed and rolled his eyes. “Thank you kindly.”

“Doctor, I am rather confused by your behavior,” Spock said, and McCoy stiffened. “You have barely spoken a word to me since I was put back in my body, but now you seem…determined to speak to me.”

“…I decided to stop being such a big baby,” McCoy muttered.

Spock looked at him, utterly bewildered, and McCoy couldn’t help but roll his eyes again. “Don’t worry about it, Spock. You couldn’t understand my behavior much before you died, either.”

Spock thought about this for a moment. “…I suppose that is true.”

They entered the _Bounty_ and wound their way through the dimly lit hallways. As soon as they stepped onto the Bridge, Saavik approached Spock. “Good day, Captain Spock. May your journey be free of incident.”

Spock dipped his head. “Live long and prosper, Lieutenant.”

McCoy ducked out of the way as Saavik brushed past him to leave the ship and watched as Spock walked up to Jim. “Permission to come aboard.”

“Permission granted,” Jim said easily.

Spock almost looked pleased, but then it was gone in an instant. “Thank you, Admiral.”

“Jim,” Jim corrected. McCoy cringed as Spock just stared at him blankly and Jim’s easy smile fell. “Spock, it’s Jim. Don’t you remember?”

“It would not be proper to refer to you as Jim while you’re in command, Admiral,” Spock replied, and McCoy sighed. He really had his work cut out for him. “Also, I must apologize for my attire. I seem to have misplaced my uniform.”

Jim managed to smile at him anyway, which was more than McCoy could do at this point. “Station,” was all he said.

Spock nodded and turned to the science station. McCoy lingered in the doorway and met Jim’s eyes as he turned to look at him. He thought he would say something, but instead Jim just sighed and turned back to the captain’s chair.

McCoy hurried after him and whispered, “Are you sure this is such a bright idea?”

“What do you mean?” Jim asked innocently, and McCoy could’ve strangled him.

He gestured at Spock. “I mean _him_ , back at his post like nothing happened. I don’t know if you’ve got the whole picture or not, but he’s not exactly working on all thrusters.”

Jim looked at him, and then at Spock. “It’ll come back to him.”

McCoy could’ve laughed. “Are you _sure_?”

Jim gave him a sympathetic look, but didn’t answer. He simply sat in his chair, and McCoy did huff out a laugh, then. “That’s what I thought.”

He left Jim to his duty and walked over to his. There was an extra seat next to the science station, which was so coincidentally perfect that McCoy almost wondered if someone had put it there for him. He hesitated, staring at Spock, who had his back to him. God, he’d put his heart through a lot, but could it really survive _this_?

Spock looked up at him, likely wondering why he was hovering over him, and McCoy hurried to take the seat next to him. He felt silly and embarrassed and totally unprepared for the journey ahead.

They took off, and for a while it was just smooth sailing and silence. McCoy tapped his fingers together, trying to think of something to needle Spock with, but his phaser banks were unusually completely empty. What could he even tease Spock about when he was like this?

He got up and paced around a little, trying to get his neural pathways firing. What had he always used to tease Spock about? It was so long ago now, and things hadn’t necessarily been a walk in the park on their recent missions, so there hadn’t been any time to snark at each other like they’d used to. He remembered always teasing him about his green blood, and likening him to a computer, but both of those things were a little too close to home for him to feel comfortable teasing him about them. He still had some of Spock’s memories nestled inside his head, but teasing him about those seemed like a low blow, a betrayal of trust. But what else was there? The man had just recovered from _death_ after all.

…Wait, that was it.

As the rest of the crew bustled around trying to figure out why no Federation patrol ships were meeting them, McCoy slid back into his seat next to Spock. “Hi. Busy?”

Spock glanced at him. “Uhura is busy. I am monitoring.”

That was…something. “Well, I just wanted to say it sure is nice to have your _katra_ back in your head and not mine.”

Spock just stared at him before returning to look at his monitors. McCoy continued awkwardly, “What I mean is, I may have carried your soul, but I sure couldn’t fill your shoes.”

He did his best to smile warmly. Spock looked vaguely concerned. “My shoes?”

His smile fell. …Right. Computer.

“Forget it,” he grumbled, looking down at Spock’s monitors. _Goddammit, think, man!_ They had had no trouble finding things to argue about in the past. There had to be _something_. “…Perhaps we could cover a little philosophical ground. Life, death…life, things of that nature.”

“I did not have time on Vulcan to review the philosophical disciplines,” Spock said, looking up at him. If McCoy didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought it was a joke.

“Come on, Spock. It’s me, McCoy!” he burst out, barely biting back his frustration. “You really have gone where no man’s gone before – can’t you tell me what it felt like?”

Spock considered this for only a moment. “It would be impossible to discuss this subject without a common frame of reference.”

McCoy just stared at him. “You’re joking.”

“A joke is a…story with a humorous climax,” Spock said, like he was answering a question on an exam and wasn’t entirely sure of the answer.

“You mean I have to _die_ to discuss your insights on death?!” McCoy said incredulously. This would’ve made a small smile fold in the corner of the old Spock’s mouth.

It hurt when this Spock simply ignored him. “Forgive me, Doctor. I’m receiving a number of distress calls.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he mumbled, and got up to resume pacing.

This was going to be a long, long trip indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

Identifying the language used in the probe was fairly simple.

It helped that Spock had had to relearn everything he had ever known in the last few months – he vividly remembered the lesson on Earth biodiversity. Humans liked to believe that they were the most intelligent beings on their planet, but while perhaps true in some sense, it was not the whole truth. There were many different types of intelligence on Earth, and even more so before its sixth mass extinction.

If the probe was directed at Earth’s oceans, it was only logical that the probe was attempting to contact an aquatic lifeform. After that, it was simply a matter of matching the decoded sound of the probe to the computer’s records of marine animal calls. 

After determining that the probe was intended for contacting humpback whales, a now extinct species, the only possible alternative was to find some humpback whales.

“You just said there aren’t any, except on Earth of the past,” Leonard said. He had been sticking close to Spock as of late, which was confusing to him. He still didn’t understand why Leonard had spent so much time avoiding him only to now never leave his side, and Leonard’s cryptic answer certainly hadn’t clarified it for him. His constant presence wasn’t necessarily a complaint; it was just another item on an exhaustingly long list of things he didn’t remember or understand.

“Yes, Doctor, that is exactly what I said,” Spock replied, and found himself gravitating to Leonard’s side. Something about this was familiar, like muscle memory.

Leonard scoffed. “Oh, well, in _that_ case…” He stalled as he watched Admiral Kirk circle around behind Spock. Leonard leaned over and pointed at him. “Now wait just a damn minute.”

“Spock,” the Admiral said, “start your computations for time warp. Bones, you come with me.”

Spock raised an eyebrow as he watched them leave. It seemed now was not the time to question Leonard again, which was perhaps for the best.

There was work to be done.

Fortunately, he was able to recall his calculations for the time warp equation. It helped that they had used it several times throughout their journeys onboard the _Enterprise_ , and overall math and physics had seemed to return to Spock the quickest. Sarek had claimed it was because they were subjects that came easy to Spock, and thus were easier to recall.

Spock couldn’t help but wonder if this was why he had so much trouble remembering his emotions and the acts associated with them. On Vulcan, Spock had felt nearly recovered. But here, surrounded by his friends, it felt like he hadn’t made any progress at all. Everything felt as confusing as it had when he’d first returned to his body. He remembered shared events, but didn’t understand what they meant the way the others did. He also didn’t know how to relate to his human friends anymore, though he remembered having scientific conversations with Chekov, philosophical conversations with Jim, helping Uhura with her Vulcan, and having incredibly long arguments with Leonard.

Now, the prospect of speaking to any of them for a prolonged period of time was intimidating. Leonard had attempted to draw him into conversation, and likely an argument, but Spock hadn’t known what to say. What had they spoken about before? None of the topics he could think of seemed…important.

But he knew he had valued them, before he died. He just didn’t know why.

“Ready to engage the computer, Admiral,” Spock said when the calculations were finally done. Leonard had returned to his side 6 minutes ago, looking unhappy. Spock did not understand his hesitation about what they were going to do. There was no other alternative, and yet he seemed to be set on arguing about it.

He seemed to be set on arguing about everything.

“What’s our target in time?” Admiral Kirk asked.

“Late 20th century.”

Kirk pursed his lips. “Can you be more specific?”

“Not with this equipment,” Spock said. “I had to program some of the variables from memory.”

“…What are some of the variables?”

“Availability of fuel components, mass of the vessel through a time continuum, and probable location of humpback whales, in this case the Pacific basin.”

Kirk looked surprised. “You programmed all that from memory?”

Spock nodded. “I have.”

“Angels and ministers of grace defend us,” Leonard said, and when Spock turned to face him, he was staring up at the ceiling.

Spock recognized this phrase. “ _Hamlet_ , Act I, Scene IV.”

“No doubt about your memory,” Kirk said, smiling. “Engage computers. Prepare for warp speed.”

Their time warp was successful, and they found themselves in the middle of Golden Gate Park in San Francisco, circa 1986. Spock peered thoughtfully out at the fog-encased park. 1986 was a fascinating time to be in Earth’s America, and if they did not have such a time-sensitive mission, Spock would have been intrigued to explore it more thoroughly.

“I want you all to be _very careful_. This is _terra incognita_ ,” Kirk said. “Many of their customs will doubtless take us by surprise.”

Leonard turned in his seat and sent Spock a strangely gleeful grin. Spock peered at him for a long moment before picking up on his meaning.

_Of course the Doctor would tease you about your ears_. The thought floated into the front of his consciousness as he carefully ripped a strip of fabric from his robe to wrap around his head and hide his obviously non-human ears. He hadn’t remembered until just then, how often Leonard had teased him. They had teased each other, Spock was surprised to realize – while it made sense to him that Leonard would shoot a ‘pointed-ear’ comment his way, he didn’t understand why he himself had teased the doctor in return. He had teased the doctor about his emotionalism, his materialism. There was no logic to it, yet it had occurred often.

_Doctor, you are a sensualist._

_You bet your pointed ears I am._

There was something about the way Leonard had looked at him when he’d said it that stirred something in Spock. What reason was there to tease the doctor about something so common in his species except for perhaps generating an excuse to speak with him? Or maybe even to…

Flirt. He knew it with certainty now – he had been flirting. With Leonard.

Until this moment, he hadn’t even remembered what flirting _was_.

“It’s a foregone conclusion that none of these people have seen an extraterrestrial before,” Kirk added, looking amused.

Leonard seemed to find Spock’s new headband look equally amusing, if his smirk was anything to go by. Spock marveled on how he seemed to be reading the doctor better now that he remembered what was obviously a key component in their interactions. In this familiar setting, he could almost remember what he would say in reply if Leonard decided to tease him.

“This is an extremely primitive and paranoid culture,” the Admiral continued, “Chekov will issue a phaser and a communicator to each team. We’ll maintain radio silence except in emergencies. Those of you in uniform, remove your rank insignia.”

They prepared themselves as Sulu took them through the landing procedures. It was early morning local time, so it gave them plenty of time to walk around and find their bearings without losing most of the day.

Spock was ready before most of the others, as he had no uniform insignia to remove, but before he could exit the warbird, Leonard reached out and grabbed his shoulder. “Hey.”

Spock startled from the contact – it had been many months since the doctor had touched him, and his light robe did nothing to block the swirl of emotions Spock picked up from Leonard. He raised his shields, too overwhelmed to focus on them right now.

“Yes, Leonard?” Leonard flinched at the use of his first name, so Spock corrected himself. “Doctor. What is it?”

“Just…” Leonard looked awkward now, scuffing his boot on the floor. “Be careful out there, okay? I know Vulcans aren’t supposed to lie, but these people have never even _heard_ of a Vulcan – you can’t just go out there and blurt every personal detail about yourself.”

Spock blinked at him, affronted. “I would hardly do such a thing anyway, Doctor, but I am clear on the mission details.”

“I know, dammit! I just…”

“Your concern is appreciated, if not warranted,” Spock said when Leonard didn’t go on. “As long as no one asks any direct questions, I should be able to conceal my identity without resorting to lies.”

Leonard looked up at him with, surprisingly, a wry smile. “You did used to be rather adept at misdirection.”

Spock frowned at him. “To what are you referring, Doctor?”

Leonard stared at him. “…You’re messing with me.”

“I am not.”

“Then God help us all,” Leonard muttered and shoved his way past Spock to exit the warbird.

Still puzzled, Spock followed Leonard down the ramp and out into the past.

\--

Spock was assigned to the Admiral’s team, their task to search for the whales.

He attempted to utilize a map to locate the most likely place where whales would reside, but a convenient sign on the side of a bus deemed it unnecessary. While on the bus, Spock found himself irritated by the youth across from him, blasting a radio and refusing to turn it down even when Kirk asked him to. On Vulcan, excessive noise was considered distasteful, but it was with an irrational flash of irritation that Spock reached over and pinched the youth, shutting both him and his radio up.

Kirk and the others on the bus seemed to appreciate his actions, but Spock found himself thinking about Leonard. He knew, that should he have been there, Leonard would’ve claimed he was acting emotionally.

_Angry, Mister Spock? Or frustrated, perhaps?_

It suddenly occurred to Spock, with a bit of shock, that perhaps Leonard was right. He had never stopped to consider that perhaps his control, while strong, slipped sometimes due to his human half. Perhaps he remembered himself acting emotionally because there were times when he had found it difficult to maintain his composure.

It was logical to put a stop to a public nuisance. But Spock had not been thinking of the public when he had reached over.

Perhaps his emotions factored into his own personal equation more than he had originally realized.

The bus dropped them off right in front of the Cetacean Institute, so they simply had to walk in. Inside, they overheard a tour group guide, calling herself Gillian Taylor, speaking to a large group. Spock and Admiral Kirk joined the group and followed Doctor Taylor down the hallway, listening to her presentation. She was quite knowledgeable, and if Spock would’ve liked to speak with her further on the matters of whale hunting and species extinction in this century. It would be a prime opportunity to study the sixth mass extinction event as it occurred.

As it was, they simply followed her outside to where the humpback whales were contained. It was an outdoor exhibit, and the largest whale tank in the world. The two whales began breeching immediately, apparently intrigued by the group leaning against the railing and gawking at them. Doctor Taylor laughed, obviously very attached to the whales.

“It’s perfect, Spock,” the Admiral said as he joined Spock off to the side. “A male and a female humpback in a contained space – we beam them up together, consider ourselves lucky.”

Spock stared at the whales. It was imperative that they take them with them in order to save modern day Earth, but simply taking the whales would be little more than kidnapping. The whales would be terrified, and in their eyes Spock and the others would be no better than those in this century who were hunting them to extinction. It would then become a lot less likely that they would speak up on their behalf to the alien probe.

The only logical conclusion therefore was to explain to them exactly what they planned to do and ask for their permission.

As the tour group moved on, Spock removed his robe, folding it neatly and tucking it against the railing. He stood for a moment, looking down at the water. It was still strange to see such large bodies of water – Vulcan had none, being a desert planet. Spock had learned to swim at the Academy, so what he planned to do should not be an issue.

He just hoped he remembered how.

He dove in, flailing for a moment before his muscle memory kicked in. Taking a deep breath, he swam downwards, his second eyelid falling shut to protect his eyes against the salt in the water. He headed for the whale closest to him and swam up alongside it. Its head was so massive that he had to feel along it for a moment before he found some psi points, located right above its eye, and then he fell into the mind of the whale.

He found himself in contact with the whale known as Gracie – she had a true name, something that felt ancient in their conjoined minds, but Spock could not pronounce it. Her mind was quite complex, more complex than almost anything Spock had melded with before. It took him a while to find an area of consciousness he recognized, and when he did he introduced himself and asked after her well-being.

Images flooded his mind, of hundreds and hundreds of whales of different species migrating to Earth’s poles, feeding on krill happily and endlessly together. There were flashes of pain, other whales, friends, family, being killed in front of their eyes. A deep sorrow and anger raced through their minds, an ever-present ache and fear that flooded their large body. But there were also images of Doctor Taylor, echoing with fondness and affection. All humans were not responsible for the atrocities committed by a few individuals, and Gracie seemed to have an advanced understanding of this.

Spock conveyed his message with images as well, figuring that would translate better. He showed her images of the future, of current day Earth and of his Vulcan. He showed her images of the alien probe, the dead space stations and ships, and the critical condition it had left Earth in. He then explained their proposition, assuring her that no one would be hunting her or her mate in the Earth of his century. Gracie acknowledged the problem and agreed with their solution, proving herself to be quite a logical creature.

Satisfied his message had reached her, Spock was about to break the meld when Gracie nudged his mind. _You are troubled, young one._

_I am…recovering from a near-death experience._

_And you are having trouble reconnecting with your old reality?_

_Yes._ He showed her a brief overview of Vulcan philosophies regarding logic and emotional suppression, and then showed her memories of his past actions that no longer made sense to him. _There are many times in the past where I seem to have acted illogically purely so that my friends would not be injured, or for their emotional well-being. But now…it does not seem logical._

Gracie brought something to Spock’s attention that he had not noticed before. He probed further and then let out something like a gasp. _You are with child._

_Indeed._

She showed him images of humpbacks hunting, working together to create bubble nets to ensnare great quantities of prey. She showed him ancient, land-bound whales, and how, through cooperation and producing offspring, those distant relatives evolved into the whales that existed today.

_Caring for someone is not illogical. Without friends, without mates, all life would cease to exist._

Spock thought of Leonard, and Gracie hummed. _Why have you been avoiding your mate?_

Spock tried to correct her, but she saw right through him. _I…do not wish to hurt him by engaging in something I do not understand._

_If you do not try, you will never understand. Understanding comes from doing, not from being told._

As Spock thought about this, he suddenly became aware of a burning in his body. Gracie nudged his physical body. _Go and breathe, young one. And experience those around you before you forget them forever._

Spock carefully withdrew from her mind and swam for the surface. He gasped in air when he surfaced, his lungs burning from being underwater for so long. He swam to the dock and pulled himself out, giving himself a shake to dry off a bit before putting his robe back on.

Doctor Taylor and Admiral Kirk stormed up to him, and as they yelled at him about something irrelevant, he thought of humpbacks and the logic of connecting with others.

\--

“You did _what_?” McCoy barked, unsure if he should laugh or immediately get Spock set up for a brain scan.

Spock was replicating another robe to replace the one that was still damp and heavy on his frame. McCoy, Uhura, and Chekov had raised their eyebrows when he had come back to the ship, alone and dripping wet, and then Spock proceeded to tell them the most outrageous story McCoy had ever heard. He could hardly be blamed for not believing it.

But Spock merely blinked at him. “As I already stated, I dove into the whale tank and—”

The laughter won out – McCoy bent over double, practically wheezing. “I wish I had been there to see that— _holy shit._ ”

“You actually communicated with a whale?” Uhura asked, obviously biting back a laugh of her own. “What was that like?”

“Her mind was like nothing I have ever touched before. It was ancient, and complex, and quite fascinating.” Spock stared off into the distance, as if he was recalling the experience. “It was—”

“A whale of a good time?” Chekov interjected, and McCoy burst out laughing again.

Spock just looked puzzled. “Is that…an expression?”

“Yes.” Chekov grinned widely. “It was invented in Russia.”

“It was not, you ass,” McCoy said, still chuckling.

Spock still looked lost. “…I assume your respective tasks were equally successful, given your presence here?”

“Yeah, Scotty’s setting up the tank now.” McCoy crossed his arms and huffed out a laugh. “The computers here are damn strange, you can’t talk to them like you can in our time. Everyone has to do every little thing themselves in this time period!”

“And Chekov and I just need to beam over to the naval base to collect the photons,” Uhura explained, glancing at the ship’s time display. “Speaking of which, Pavel, we should get going.”

“Aye, sir!” Chekov chirped.

They left for the transporter, and McCoy and Spock were suddenly alone. Spock was looking at him thoughtfully, and McCoy shuffled his feet, uncomfortable. He should probably try and make some progress teasing Spock, as they hadn’t seen each other all day, but a bigger part of him just wanted to flee. Maybe he should check if Scotty needed help with the tank…

“Doctor, you are fond of colorful metaphors,” Spock said suddenly, and McCoy nearly choked on his own spit. “Perhaps you can help me understand why the Admiral told me I shouldn’t use them anymore.”

“Wait, wait, hold on, back up – _you_ were using colorful metaphors?” McCoy leaned forward. “I want to know _exactly_ what you said.”

“I was speaking to the whale biologist we met, and told her that the whales are fond of her, but they are not the hell her whales. I also said I was attempting the hell to communicate with them. When she asked if they had told me that, I said ‘the hell they did’.”

“…Oh my _God_ ,” McCoy muttered, covering his mouth with his hand, barely holding back more crazed laughter. Why had he avoided him all these months – this Spock was so impressionable he could’ve gotten him to say Southern slangs by now! “Okay, well first of all, no one _actually_ swears every other sentence. And the grammar of when you add it in just…isn’t right.”

“How would you say it, then?” Spock asked curiously.

McCoy stared at him. “…Are you actually asking me to teach you how to swear?”

“It seems to be a useful skill in this time period,” Spock said seriously.

McCoy took a deep breath in and let it out. He couldn’t believe he was actually doing this – that Spock was actually _asking_ him to do this. “Alright, let’s practice swearing about your current condition then.”

Spock looked down at his still wet robe and then looked back at him, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. McCoy took a step forward. “For example, if that was me, I’d be complaining like there was no tomorrow about how wet I was. I’d say something like ‘I’m all fucking wet!’ Note how the metaphor goes _before_ the adjective, as it would for a verb, too. It wouldn’t sound right to say ‘I’m fucking all wet!’”

Spock considered this. “So instead of saying ‘the hell they did’, I should’ve said ‘they fucking did’.”

McCoy nodded. “Exactly. The only time you really say ‘the hell’ is when you say ‘what the hell’. You could say ‘like hell they did’, but that implies sarcasm and usually has the opposite meaning. In my experience, ‘fucking’ or ‘damn’ tend to fit into sentences better than ‘hell’ or ‘shit’.”

“I was not aware you were so experienced in the grammar of colorful metaphors,” Spock said, and for a second, his eyes crinkled like they used to when he was amused. “It’s fucking impressive.” 

McCoy laughed, delighted. “It all comes from practice. But I gotta say, you got it in one, Spock.”

He would say Spock almost looked proud as he turned to the replicator. “So if I wished to shout about how long this is taking to replicate my robe, I could say, ‘What’s taking so damn long?’”

Oh God this was too wonderful – McCoy couldn’t stop grinning. “Sure can. You could even say ‘What the hell is taking so long’, if you’d like.”

“What the hell is taking so long?” Spock said loudly, too flatly intoned to be a shout, and McCoy collapsed against the wall laughing his ass off.

“Erm…” They both startled and glanced up to find Scotty standing in the doorway, looking absolutely flabbergasted. “Am I…interruptin’ something?”

McCoy cleared his throat awkwardly as Spock turned to Scotty. “Doctor McCoy was simply teaching me how to employ colorful metaphors.”

Scotty’s eyebrows rose. “I see. Lookin’ to expand your horizons, eh laddie?”

“Doctor McCoy obviously deems them valuable, so I decided perhaps they were worth experiencing for myself.”

McCoy gaped at him. “Even though they’re totally illogical?”

Spock stared at him meaningfully. “Sometimes things have value even if they are illogical. And to me right now, any experience is meaningful.”

Inexplicably, McCoy flushed. Spock seemed…closer to recovery than he had when he’d left earlier. McCoy would continue to tease him relentlessly about the whale mind meld, but it seemed like something about that experience had straightened things out for Spock. And for that, at least, he was grateful.

“Anyway,” Scotty said, clearing his throat. “I would appreciate some help with installin’ the tank.”

“I can help,” McCoy said before Spock could say anything. He turned to the Vulcan, hesitating for a moment before placing his hand on Spock’s shoulder. “You keep swearing at that replicator – maybe it’ll help it spit out your robe faster.”

Spock tipped his head. “It will be good practice.”

McCoy smirked and followed Scotty down into the bowels of the ship where the tank was being installed.

“He seems better,” Scotty commented as they walked.

“You know, he really does, suddenly,” McCoy said, smiling as he looked down at his feet. “Although I’ll tell you, I don’t think I _ever_ could’ve gotten the old Spock to swear like that.”

Scotty chuckled. “Maybe dyin’ makes you reassess the values you always had. I know if I had an abrupt wake-up call like that, I’d take the time to think about how my life’s been goin’.” He paused thoughtfully. “Not that I’d change anything, mind you – I like my job, you know.”

McCoy laughed. “Then I envy you – I think I’d change a lot if I could.”

Scotty gave him an amused look. “Somehow I doubt that, Doctor.”

“What are you trying to say, Scotty?” McCoy growled, shoving him playfully.

“Nothin’. Nothin’ at _all_.” Scotty winked and McCoy rolled his eyes as he followed him down into the tank.

They worked for a while, the simple manual labor relaxing to McCoy. It was nice to not have to think about Spock, or the danger modern-day Earth was in, or if this crazy plan would even work, or how if it didn’t, they’d all be stuck here in this weird, practically alien world. 

That had always been McCoy’s problem – he was a worrier. He worried about everything that could possibly happen, and it was hard to relax. Spock had always been good at calming him down, whether it was intentional or not. Their arguments made it hard to focus on anything else.

McCoy sighed heavily. So much for not thinking about Spock.

He worked until he heard Jim’s voice, back from his dinner date. Jim entered the tank room with Spock, gesturing with his hands as he spoke to him.

“Jim—” McCoy started to call out, but stopped when he realized how stressed Jim looked.

“Dammit, _dammit_. We’ve been so lucky!” Jim grit out. “We’ve got two perfect whales right in our hands, but if we don’t move quickly, we’ll lose them!”

“In that event, the probabilities are that our mission would fail,” Spock stated without inflection.

“Our _mission_?” Jim said incredulously. “Spock, you’re talking about the end of every life on Earth. You’re half-human – don’t you have any goddamn feelings about _that_?!”

Jim stormed off, and Spock lingered behind, watching him go. McCoy exchanged a glance with Scotty and then approached Spock carefully. Spock was frowning, obviously perplexed.

“…You okay?” McCoy asked quietly.

Spock turned to him, something troubled in his eyes. “Doctor, I believe it is long past time we talked.”

McCoy suppressed the urge to sigh. “Right now?”

“Yes.”

McCoy did sigh then, but gestured for Spock to follow him. He took him to the room he was using as a makeshift Sickbay in case anyone—God forbid—needed it. It could’ve been the room’s original purpose when it was occupied by Klingons as well, as there were many ‘beds’, but the ‘beds’ were really just vertical slats of hard metal with no pillows or blankets. For all McCoy knew, it could’ve just as easily been a torture room.

He turned to face Spock when he stepped into the room, crossing his arms. He waited until the doors shut behind them and then said, “Alright, then. Talk.”

Spock clasped his hands behind his back and took a moment to collect his thoughts. “Interactions with everyone have been most…confusing. I do not understand everyone’s…discomfort.” He looked up. “Especially yours and the Admiral’s.”

McCoy sighed heavily and drew his hand through his hair, thinking. “We’re…used to how you used to be, I guess. We expect certain responses, certain patterns, when we interact with you, and when we don’t get those it’s…jarring.”

“…That is logical, I suppose.” Spock looked down. “I try to act as I believe I would’ve, but many of my actions of the past don’t make much sense to me, either.”

“Like what?”

“Like the time I stole the _Enterprise_ in order to bring Captain Pike to Talos IV.”

“Oh God, I could’ve strangled you for that little stunt,” McCoy said, chuckling a little. “But I’m willing to bet you don’t understand that because that’s one of the few times you acted on emotion, not logic.”

Spock frowned. “But why would I act in such a way? It does not seem to fit with the image and ideals I hold for myself.”

“Pike was someone you really cared about. You really cared about all of us, too. And before you died, I think you would’ve done anything to protect us. You _did_ do anything – you killed yourself to save us.”

“…So my care for you all caused me to sometimes stray from the path of logic,” Spock said.

“Yes. You always had some bullshit excuse about how it was logical or something, but I honestly don’t think you thought that much about it.”

“Caring for someone is not illogical,” Spock murmured.

McCoy almost thought he’d misheard him. “What?”

“Nothing, Doctor.” Spock looked back up at him. “While your explanation makes sense to me, I still do not understand why everyone acts so differently around me. According to my memory, there were only very few times I strayed from logic in such obvious ways, and yet everyone now seems displeased with my lack of emotional expression.”

McCoy couldn’t help but smirk at that. “We always have been, Spock.”

“But the Admiral has never gotten so angry with me before,” Spock said. “So clearly something has changed.”

“Spock, _you’ve_ changed!” McCoy burst out. “You used to be, I don’t know, more _relaxed_ somehow! I never thought I’d call you that, but you weren’t so… _stickler_ about everything. You used to tease me and Jim all the time. You’d play chess with him! You and I used to argue all the time about silly things… Now you hardly even talk to us if you don’t have something to say. Don’t you _remember_?”

“I remember,” Spock said, “but I am starting to believe I am not as recovered as the doctors on Vulcan said I was.”

McCoy snorted. “I could’ve told you that.”

“Then tell me, Doctor.” Spock took a small step forward. “What sort of treatment would you prescribe?”

“Dammit, you know I’m not that kind of a doctor,” McCoy growled, but then sighed and considered the question seriously. “Listen, you’re half-human too, surely you must know that. You always pretended you were the most stoic of Vulcans, but looking at you now…you obviously had some humanity in you. And I don’t think you’ll ever be the same unless you address that your human side needs to express itself, too.”

Spock tilted his head to the side. “And how do you suggest I attempt to do this while staying true to my Vulcan ideals?”

“Hell, I have absolutely no idea, Spock. You figured it out before, somehow. Because when you were just a _katra_ in my head, you were able to tell me…” McCoy swallowed drily. “That is, you said—”

“That I love you,” Spock finished. McCoy bit his lip and nodded. “I still have those feelings, Leonard. But I do not believe it would be fair to you or myself to address them while I am not fully recovered.”

“I know that – I’m not asking you to do that.” McCoy looked into his eyes. “I’m just asking— _begging_ —you to let yourself be a little human. The swearing you were doing earlier, for example. I don’t think you would’ve ever sworn like that before, but you let yourself do something silly just because you enjoyed it. That’s how chess games were with Jim, how arguments were with me. You _enjoyed_ those things, so it didn’t matter if it wasn’t logical or whatever to do those things with us. You expressed care for others, even if it wasn’t in ways that humans found obvious. You’d smile sometimes, in the corner of your mouth. You were sassy, and sarcastic – you had a dry wit that could kill a man. Those things weren’t Vulcan, but they were _you_.”

Spock thought about this for a moment. “…Accepting that there are parts of me that are not strictly Vulcan does seem to explain a great deal of my past behavior.”

“I know you struggled with that a lot in the past. Lord knows we must’ve had thousands of arguments about it.”

“5,452.”

McCoy balked as Spock raised his eyebrow. “ _Really?_ Shit, I don’t even know how that’s possible.”

“We are both stubborn, Doctor.”

“That’s true.” McCoy chuckled. “Anyway, I think you’ll be a lot less confused if you consider that sometimes you decide it’s worth it to act on those illogical impulses you get.”

“…I will consider what you’ve said,” Spock said. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“Leonard,” McCoy corrected, and was pleased when something brightened in Spock’s eyes. “And listen, I’m sorry about how I’ve been acting these last few months. I…well, I was pretty hurt, but you needed me, and I wasn’t there for you, and I’m sorry. You’re my friend, always, and I’m here for you from now on.”

“…Thank you, Leonard.” Spock hesitated, and then pressed two of his fingers to McCoy’s cheek. “You are invaluable to me, and you always will be.”

McCoy let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes as he leaned slightly into Spock’s touch. They stood there for who knew how long before Spock’s communicator beeped.

“Mister Spock, Uhura’s back and I would mighty appreciate your help with the dilithium crystals,” Scotty said, sounding tired.

“I will be down shortly,” Spock said, voice toneless again, but then he added, “What of Chekov?”

Scotty let out a huge sigh. “I lost transporter lock on him and we haven’t heard from him since. Uhura is trying to figure out what happened.”

McCoy frowned as Spock acknowledged and shut off the communicator. “Hell, what has Pavel gotten himself into now?”

“Unknown, but perhaps you should busy yourself until we find out.”

McCoy raised his eyebrow, a smirk pulling at his lips. “You know, you surprise me, Spock. Sometimes I think you don’t remember a damn thing about me, and then you go and say things like that.”

“You have always been what I have remembered best since returning to my body,” Spock said, to McCoy’s shock, and then dipped his head. “I will see you later.”

Spock left Sickbay, and McCoy just stood there, staring after him, until he remembered there was still work to be done on the tank and unrooted himself.

They didn’t hear about Chekov until the next day. McCoy was pretty sure Uhura hadn’t slept at all the night before, but he didn’t say anything. He knew all about how guilt ate at you no matter what anyone said, so he just made sure she had a steady supply of her favorite tea.

Word finally came through right after Doctor Taylor beamed aboard. She, Jim, and Spock were standing in the hallway just above McCoy, talking animatedly when Uhura’s transmission cut in. Chekov was in the hospital apparently, and it didn’t sound good.

“They report Chekov’s condition is critical. He’s not expected to survive,” McCoy heard Uhura say over the intercom as he climbed up the ladder out of the whale tank.

“Jim,” he said as he reached the top and stepped off the ladder. “You’ve got to let me go in there – don’t leave him in the hands of 20th century medicine.”

“Admiral, may I suggest that Doctor McCoy is correct?” Spock cut in. Everyone looked at him in surprise. “We must help Chekov.”

Jim took a deep breath and then turned to face him. “Is that the logical thing to do, Spock?”

Spock shook his head. “No. But it is the human thing to do.”

He caught McCoy’s eye, and McCoy smiled at him. It was the most like Spock he’d seemed since the first day he’d been returned to his body.

Jim looked at McCoy too and smiled. Things were looking up, suddenly. “Alright then, we don’t have much time, so let’s go!”

\--

Rescuing Chekov from the hospital was an absolute nightmare.

McCoy had never seen so many horrific medical practices all in one place. Walking around that place was like walking around a little shop of horrors – McCoy still had the chills. He was just glad they’d gotten there in time before those ‘doctors’ had decided to drill a hole in Chekov’s head.

He had Chekov in his makeshift Sickbay now, laying on one of the ‘beds’. Spock had offered his spare robe for Chekov to lay on top of, so he wasn’t just lying on cold, hard metal, and Uhura had offered her pillows. Spock stood just behind him as McCoy worked, silently handing him the tools he needed, his eyes never leaving Chekov.

McCoy worked on Chekov for an hour, making sure the patch-up he’d done at the hospital was holding and healing anything else that seemed amiss. When he finished, Chekov was back to full consciousness, blinking at Spock hovering over him as if he was the last person he had expected to see.

“Pavel,” Spock said, his voice low, “I am pleased you are recovered.”

Chekov just stared for a moment, and then grinned. “Same to you, Mister Spock.”

Spock raised an eyebrow, and McCoy smiled to himself as he put his equipment back in his medkit. 

Once Chekov had rested for half an hour, the three of them returned to the Bridge. Just in time too, for Chekov had just sat down in his seat when Jim stormed onboard.

“Spock, where the hell’s that power you promised us?” he barked

McCoy sat down at his seat as Spock maneuvered behind him to reach his station. “One damn minute, Admiral.”

Jim looked shocked, and McCoy spun in his seat to grin widely at Spock. “10/10, Mister Spock. And I’ll even grant you some bonus points for scaring the hell out of Jim.”

Spock turned to look at him, and his eyes sparkled with so much humor that McCoy’s breath caught. He hadn’t seen Spock’s eyes so full of life since…well, he had died. “Thank you, Doctor.”

They fell into silence then as Spock focused on his work and the rest of the Bridge bustled with activity. As usual, McCoy was the only one left without something to do. Granted, he was glad no one was injured and that Chekov seemed fine, but it sure felt strange sitting around doing nothing while everyone else was trying so hard to get this damn ship running again and back to their own time.

Eventually, he turned his eyes back to Spock. The Vulcan no longer looked humorous, and instead his eyebrows were furrowed, as if he was troubled by something.

McCoy leaned over the console. “You, uh, you present the appearance of a man with a problem.”

Spock turned to face him. “Your perception is correct, Doctor. In order to return us to the exact moment we left the 23rd century, I have used our journey back through time as a referent, calculating the coefficient of elapsed time in relation to the acceleration curve.”

McCoy smirked – that was Spock jibber-jabber if he’d ever heard it. “Naturally. So what’s your problem?”

“Acceleration is no longer a constant.”

McCoy sat back a little. “Well, then you’re just gonna have to take your best shot.”

“Best shot?” Spock repeated blankly.

“Guess, Spock – your best guess.”

“Guessing is not in my nature, Doctor,” Spock said.

“Well, nobody’s perfect,” McCoy said, and smiled. “Just as it should be.”

Spock looked affronted. “I take it you do not consider me a perfect being, Doctor.”

McCoy chuckled. “I absolutely do not, and you shouldn’t either. You’ll be more content that way.”

“I’m a bit surprised you used ‘content’ and not ‘happy’,” Spock said, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, if I’ve learned anything at all from all the years I’ve known you, it’s that happiness isn’t really what works for you. For you, simple contentment is exactly what you’ve been looking for.”

Spock considered this for some time. Then, he said, “Leonard, at the moment I believe you know me better than I know myself.”

“Trust me, I’ve worked long and hard to be able to get there,” McCoy laughed, and then winked at him. “And it won’t be that way for long, darlin’.”

Spock’s eyebrow shot up at the term of endearment, but he didn’t question it like he once might’ve. He was the same Spock as he’d always been, but also not – he was more open, more willing to experiment with things that he would’ve once dismissed as illogical. Even though the whole ordeal had been traumatic as hell, maybe some good had come from it.

As McCoy sat there, holding on for dear life as the ship rocked back into motion, he thought he could go for some simple contentment, too.

\--

They got their whales, and made it back to the 23rd century. Once the alien probe was taken care of and Earth was well on its way to recovery, they were put on trial by Starfleet. Even then, though, they managed to get away with all the crazy shit they’d been up to in the last few months, which was just typical James T. Kirk luck. Jim’s only ‘punishment’ was what he’d wanted all along – to lose that Admiral collar and get his command back.

After the trial, McCoy lingered in the great hall, waiting for Spock to finish speaking with his father. To his surprise, Sarek followed Spock down the hall to where McCoy was waiting.

“Doctor McCoy,” Sarek said. “I must express my gratitude for all you have done for my son.”

“I really didn’t do much,” McCoy said, feeling awkward with no pockets to stuff his hands into.

Sarek’s eyebrow went up. “On the contrary, my son has told me he has you to thank for the bulk of his recovery. And thus, I owe you thanks as well.”

McCoy shot a quick glance at Spock, but he just looked vaguely amused. “Well, I’m just glad he’s back to normal.”

“Indeed.” Sarek dipped his head. “I must be returning to Vulcan. Live long and prosper, both of you.”

Spock held up his hand in the Vulcan salute, and McCoy attempted to do the same, but his fingers were even less willing to form that shape than they had been all those years ago. “Dammit, maybe I _should_ consider getting some glue.”

“Gluing your hand into that shape is not very logical, Leonard,” Spock said, definitely amused. “And besides, my father has already left.”

“Huh?” McCoy’s head shot up and he realized that Spock was right. “Well, damn. It’s just as well, I guess – I need my hands the way they are.”

“Indeed.”

They left the great hall to find, surprisingly, the _Enterprise_ waiting for them. Of course Jim would even get his beloved ship back, but it wouldn’t have felt right otherwise, the bunch of them on some other ship. The _Enterprise_ was where they all belonged – even McCoy was starting to believe that.

There was a brief ceremony on the Bridge, celebrating the return of the _Enterprise_ and turning her reigns over to Jim, and then the crew dispersed. McCoy found himself walking down the familiar hallways with Spock, ranting about the 1980s hospital he had unfortunately witnessed.

“You should’ve seen the techniques they were using, I mean my God, it was like living in the Dark Ages! Did you know that they were still performing _dialysis_ on patients?”

“Doctor—”

“And the _knives_ – they wanted to cut Pavel’s head open with _knives_ —”

Spock stopped walking. “Doctor McCoy.”

“What?” McCoy barked, spinning to face Spock.

Spock stood with an eyebrow raised, his head slightly tilted. “Would you like to come in?”

McCoy stared blankly at him for a moment, not understanding him, until he realized that they were standing in front of Spock’s newly assigned quarters. It had been months since they’d been in a small room alone together, and McCoy found himself strangely nervous. He swallowed, and then nodded. “Yeah, I would.”

Spock gestured for him to go first, so McCoy did, stepping into a cool blast of air as the doors opened. He habitually turned the thermostat up to Spock’s preferred temperature and then circled around the room. It was standard issue, but still much nicer than anything they had had on the old _Enterprise_.

“So, back on the _Enterprise_ again,” he said, just to say something.

Spock stood stiffly near the replicator. He was looking handsome in his red dress uniform, but any thoughts of maybe getting him out of it left McCoy’s mind when he saw the look on his face.

“What’s wrong now? You’re alive, we’re off scot-free, your memories and personality are more or less restored.” McCoy tilted his chin up. “We should be celebrating.”

“…I believe I have hurt you quite badly, Leonard.” Spock looked down at the floor. “I told you many times that I did not believe it was possible for us to be in a relationship together, and I did not engage in our usual banter like I know you expected me to.”

McCoy sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. He _had_ been hurt pretty bad at the time, but it seemed insignificant now. Spock was back to normal, and they had all the time in the world to learn what they could mean together.

“I was hurt, but I don’t blame you for anything. You were recovering from _death_ , for God’s sake, and I knew more or less what to expect. Sarek told me it would take time to fully come back to yourself, and your mother told me your human side would _never_ come back without…outside influence.” McCoy spread his arms out. “So, what better person for the job than the one who’s been needling you until you almost express an emotion all along?”

Spock nodded in acquiescence. “Still, it could not have been easy for you.”

“Look, the way I see it, you were finally at peace with yourself, and then you had to figure it out all over again.” McCoy stepped closer to him. “I count myself lucky it didn’t take so long this time.”

Spock’s eyes finally softened as he reached up to touch McCoy’s face. “You are being uncharacteristically understanding.”

“Hey, enjoy it while it lasts.” McCoy grinned and hesitantly rested his hands on Spock’s hips. “So…are we going to give this a try?”

Spock very nearly smiled. “I think it’s about time.”

McCoy let out a breathless laugh and then, _finally_ , leaned up to kiss him.

Spock melted into the kiss, his hands moving back to tangle in McCoy’s hair. The kiss was desperate, all of their pining and doubt and love combining in an intense heat. McCoy licked Spock’s lips, impatient, and Spock parted easily for him, their tongues twining passionately together.

He wasn’t sure how long they’d been kissing when a comm whistle interrupted them.

“Bridge to Spock,” Jim’s voice crackled over the comm.

Spock parted only enough to press his finger to the button, breathing hard. “Spock here.”

“Spock, can you come up to your station? We could use someone experienced on the scanners.”

Spock raised a beautiful eyebrow. “Yes. Just give me a damn minute, Jim.”

McCoy dissolved into laughter, his forehead falling against Spock’s. He couldn’t even _begin_ to describe how much hearing Spock swear meant to him. “Please tell me this is your new catchphrase.”

“I’m considering it,” Spock said, eyes gleaming. “What do you think?”

“Hell, I’ll take anything over ‘logical’ or ‘fascinating’,” McCoy said, and kissed him again.

This kiss was sweeter, slower, knowing that they didn’t have time to explore each other like they wanted. But there was always later, and McCoy knew he at least would be thinking about it for the entirety of his shift.

“You called him Jim,” McCoy murmured when they broke apart. He had been so distracted by the swearing that he almost hadn’t noticed. 

“That is his name,” Spock said, kissing the corner of McCoy’s mouth.

“If I had asked you an hour ago, I’m sure you would’ve said his name was ‘Admiral’.”

Spock pulled back slightly and raised an eyebrow at him. “As you said yourself, I was not fully myself back then. I am now.”

And thank God for that. McCoy smiled and pressed his fingers to Spock’s.

Spock startled, blinking at McCoy with wide eyes. “Are you aware of what this gesture means, Leonard?”

“Very aware – I learned quite a lot about Vulcans when your _katra_ was stuck in my head.” McCoy smirked. “Like what _this_ does to you—”

He dug his thumb into Spock’s palm and Spock actually gasped. “Leonard, I must go to my post—”

McCoy laughed and released the poor Vulcan. “I know, I know. But I’ll see you later?”

“Yes.” Spock’s eyes softened as he pressed his two fingers to McCoy’s again. “I’m not going anywhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kaoru_of_hakone)


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